Empire, Eridor and Ending
by Aeronnen
Summary: The Empire has lost the Battle of the Burning Plains, but the Black King plots his revenge. All the free people of Alagaesia must fight for their freedom. The elves are abroad once more, the dwarves fight, the Varden are ready to invade. Who will prevail?
1. Aftermath

HI! please enjoy my story it won't be completely unoriginal much, I've got a few twists and turns for you.

Reviews would be nice, thanx very much!

Chapter One.

**16/2/07. **Just edited this, (at 10:15 at night, every one else is watching 'A Touch of Frost...it's a British murder-mystery thing...) For the new readers, the part with Arya is new, where he gives her Islanzadi's message and the punctuation is better as well. I've just found out how to edit it, lol. Right, now I'm off to do the other chapters.

Enjoy!

**Aftermath.**

_**Eragon was sitting on a light bay horse looking up at the pile of bodies in the middle of a deserted village.**_

"_**Gods above", he whispered.**_

_**The man on the white horse next to him turned and asked gently, "do you want to wait for me outside Yazuac?"**_

_**But before Eragon could reply a black dagger flew past him and buried itself in Brom's ribs.**_

_**"No!" screamed Eragon but the dream changed .**_

_**"Who are you?" asked Eragon of the serious-faced youth with brown hair in front of him.**_

_**"Murtagh," came the answer and yet again the dream changed.**_

_**The ground was a scorched orange colour and evil-looking black crabby lichen traced the floor while green tongues of flame billowed foul smelling smoke into the sky, blotting out the sun and strewn across the lurid ground, were enough men and dwarves to populate an entire city. It was a vast battle field.**_

_**A man in black armour stared at Eragon out of cold fathomless brown eyes and his lips curled in a cruel smile, "Misery and Thorn, a fit match. Besides, Zar'oc should have gone to Morzan's eldest son not his youngest. It is mine by right of birth." **_

_**"By right of birth."**_

_**"It is mine by right of birth."**_

"NO", cried Eragon, he shot bolt upright, breathing heavily.

"_Just a dream," _he thought wearily, "_though waking is not much better at the moment."_

"_Little one?," _asked a voice inside his head slightly cautiously. "A_re you all right?"_

"_I will be," _he answered _"but this is going to take quite a bit of getting used to. Angela was right. Betrayal **has** come from within my family and it has not even finished causing me pain yet."_

"_Oh little one, you should not dwell on it too much, it will only upset you more."_

"_I know ,Saphira, but speaking of pain, I think it is time that I healed you."_

Eragon looked over at the snoring Roran on the other side of the tent_ "I think I'll leave him to sleep, he needs it."_

"_Good idea little one, but I think Nasuada will want to talk to him soon. Carvahall may be a useful asset."_

"_True, but I think I'll still leave him to sleep awhile, he does not like to be woken, especially in the early morning."_

"_Well out here, little one, it is hard to tell whether it is morning, noon or night and there most certainly is no visible sunrise."_

Eragon laughed. "_Not as nice as the Hadarac Desert then, Saphira?"_

"_Definitely not." _she answered sniffily.

Eragon looked around the tent and reached for Zar'oc, then spun around cursing Murtagh for stealing it. _I will have to get a replacement, _he thought furiously, as he belted on his old hunting knife.

He gasped when he saw Saphira. A broad wound on her front leg was just scabbing over but had obviously bled a lot. Countless arrow wounds made small dark red spots on her wing membrane and blood trickled from her mouth.

"_Saphira!" _He cried out with his mind to her, "_I'm sorry, I should have healed you last night , I didn't know you were in such a state!"_

"Y_ou were too tired to heal me last night. It is of no consequence. I am fine."_

"_Never the less I should have cared for you better, I am truly sorry, Saphira."_

"_Never mind. It doesn't matter."_

"_I love you too Saphira."_

He smiled as she started humming, her enormous sides vibrating.

Eragon started with the long wound on her leg, using one of the spells to heal muscle and skin tissues , then moved on to the arrow wounds which took little energy, though there were many, and mended the skin on the roof of her mouth where the soldiers' armour had pierced the skin and was causing it to bleed badly.

"_Done", _he said, as he stood back with a sigh.

"_Thank you, little one, that feels much better now you've got rid of those little scratches."_

Eragon smiled to himself. They were considerably more than little scratches in his opinion, "_We should go and report to Nasuada ,we are needed."_

"_Agreed."_

_--_

Nasuada's pavilion was by far the busiest, not to mention the one with a lot of soldiers on duty, guarding the two royal tents of King Orrin and Lady Nasuada ,who was considered royal.

As he entered the tent he heard Nar Gharzhvog's guttural voice which stopped as the occupants of the tent noticed him.

Arya , Jormundr, Garzhvog and King Orrin all turned to face him. He looked at them all briefly noting how Arya had a bruise on her left temple, how Garzhvogs breastplate was slightly askew and how King Orrin's face was smudged in a most unkingly way, before turning to Nasuada.

"Eragon!," said Nasuada , "I gave orders that you were not to be disturbed unless there was need. Did someone wake you ?"

Eragon smiled slightly, "No my Lady, thank you, I woke on my own. We left Roran to sleep, he needed it and he does not take well to being woken involuntarily."

" We wouldn't want to disturb his beauty sleep, then would we?"

"Certainly _not_ my Lady", he answered, definitely smiling now, enjoying the nonsensical banter.

"My Lady?, I believe we were talking about what the Empires' next move will be, were we not ?" Arya cut in across their dialogue.

Nasuada's face turned serious and he noticed how her eyes were slightly bloodshot and there were small lines by her eyes that were not normally there, making her look drawn and grey, even underneath her dark skin.

"Yes, you are right Arya." Taking a deep breath, she announced to the tent at large. "We believe that the Empire will attack again after they have marshalled their forces. I also believe, and Arya and Garzhvog agree with me, that Galbatorix's plan was to greatly weaken or demolish our army as well as capturing you and Saphira, Eragon. Needless to say it has not yet happened. I would not like to be in the same room as him when he finds out that his army has not only failed but been nearly halved in size," she added with a tight smile.

"I agree, _The Dragonwings_ flaming javelins wreaked a lot of damage to the command tents. They will need to reorganise their commanding officers and realign their troops too." said Eragon

"Which gives us about two, maybe ,three days to heal our majorly wounded,and also, I do not like the idea of stealing, but we should collect weapons from the bodies." said King Orrin, "We will have to burn as much of the dead as we can, if we are to retreat in three days."

"Yes, you are right, Orrin. It makes sense but first, I want to know what you and Saphira intend to do, Eragon." asked Nasuada, looking at Eragon questioningly.

"_What do you think we should do?" _asked Eragon of Saphira.

"_Well first ,little one, I think you should heal Elva, unless you want to hear the end of Angela's tirade?"_

"_No I most certainly do not, she can be scary when she's like that."_

"_True"_

" _A bit like you , Saphira," _he teased .

"_Also true."_

_C_huckling ,he opened his eyes and told them, _"_First, I will heal Elva, then I think I will teach Du Vrangr Gata more healing spells, that way we will be ready for the march back to Surda quicker, then I," he blew out his breath, "will spend the rest of the day on the battlefield clearing the dead, and retrieving weapons ."

"Good" said Nasuada, "Meeting dismissed."

As Eragon turned to go Nasuada said, "Eragon stay back please, I wish to talk to you."

Eragon turned back, not altogether surprised, he had known that she would want to talk about Murtagh.

"Eragon, I want you to know that I really did mean what I said yesterday, do not imagine that your lineage has lessened our opinion of you at all

A lump came into Eragon's throat. "Thank you , my Lady, it means a lot to me,"

She looked at him with concern, "I know it will be hard, but you should try not to dwell on it to much, it will eat you from the inside eventually Eragon,"

"I know, my Lady, and I have finished grieving, I know that I must, sooner or later, defeat Murtagh, for I think that it is unlikely we will be able to free him without killing Galbatorix first."

Nasuada nodded, "I cannot believe that the Murtagh that fought for us in Farthen Dur, that hunted the Urgals in the tunnels with my father, is gone." Her voice broke and she allowed a tear to roll down her cheek and looked away.

"I know my Lady, it is hard, but you did not see him as he took Zar'oc from me and the cruel smile on his face as he told me his, 'claim'. He knew it would torment me but I am determined not to let it, it will be playing into his hands." Eragon said in a harsh voice. "You see, my Lady ?," he added in gentler tones , "Galbatorix has poisoned his mind. Murtagh believes his corrupt vision of peace, he **_is _**gone my Lady, and we cannot bring him back."

Nasuada nodded again, she looked much less poised and in-control than he had seen her for a long time.

"You should know, Eragon, that we call him the Red Rider now, to protect his identity for as long as we can. So, is there anything else before you depart?"

"Yes my Lady, as we told you last night, Rorans' bride-to-be, Katrina, has been captured by the Ra'zac and she is imprisoned in Helgrind at the moment and I wish to go and save her as soon as we can. Roran holds her closer to her heart than anything else in Alagaesia. It will kill him if we do not save her."

Nasuada looked at him thoughtfully, "I see no objection at the moment, though you cannot go until we reach Surda, we may need you."

"Thank you so much, My Lady. It will mean everything to Roran, and to me also."

"That's alright, Eragon, I couldn't **_not _**let you go, not the least reason being that I would not condemn anyone to even two days with those monsters ."

Eragon smiled, it was no wonder that even the Surdans loved Nasuada. She was an excellent leader." I will go wake Roran, though he should be awake by now. He never was a morning person."

"What about you Eragon? Were you an early morning person?"

He smiled, "Why, Garrow and I got up with sun, my Lady."

Nasuada laughed; It made her suddenly appear the age she was. "Dismissed - and would you tell Stronghammer that I would like to see him briefly an hour before lunch?"

"Of course, my Lady ," he bowed and exited the tent.

Eragon navigated the soldiers on duty passing the experiment house of Orrin and the store of arms. As he walked past the entrance to the yellow tent that held all the spare sword, bows and armour, the flap parted and Arya emerged from the tent.

"Good-day Eragon." She said evenly.

"Arya." He couldn't help being slightly wooden; he was still uncomfortable in her company. "How are you?"

"Well, thank-you. I have been checking the supply of swords. It is very meagre - the only ones left are the ones that are so badly balanced that it is nearly impossible to swing them in the right direction."

He nodded at that, easily believing it. They walked in silence back towards the outskirts of the camp. Her scent, of crushed pine-needles, washed over him, jogging his memory.

"Arya," he said suddenly, "I have a mesage for you, from your mother."

Her face betrayed no emotion, but she stopped and caught his eyes. "What does she say?"

"She expresses her affection to you and says that you are sorely missed in Ellesmera."

Arya's face still lacked any expression. "Thank-you for your message, Eragon."

"But I have not carried out my task properly, Arya. I did not tell you before the battle - you could have been killed in the fighting and you would never have known." He said remorsefully, cursing himself for forgetting.

"But I was not killed in the battle and I do know," she said coolly, "so there is no problem." They were nearing the pavilion that Arya was camped in and she took her leave, bidding him and Saphira good-day.

"Goodbye, Arya."

She nodded acknowledgement, then disappeared into the throngs of people that crowded the tents.

Saphira and Eragon reached the tent that Eragon was situated in. The people of Carvahall and Jeod had, as soon they had found out that Roran and Eragon stayed there, pitched camp immediately.

Eragon circumnavigated the large tent that housed Fisk and his family, "_I suppose that Jeod will want find out how Brom died soon,"_ he thought heavily, "_and I should repay Gedric for the skins I stole in Carvahall, and I would repay Sloan but seeing as the traitor has got himself and Katrina locked in Helgrind, it'll have to wait, though I will certainly not repay him now._Eragon had reached his tent where Roran was just crawling out ofthe entrance flap looking gaunt but well rested.

"_He looks completely different from the young man I left all ready to marry Katrina in Palancar Valley,"_ thought Eragon.

"Mornin' Eragon" was the greeting he got as he drew near,_ "_where's food?"

_But still the same old Roran deep inside, _Eragon smiled to himself as got food from his pack.

While they ate he told Roran that Nasuada requested him to visit him and that he would be spending the rest of the day on the battlefield.

When they had finished eating, Eragon stood up.

"Where're you going,?" asked Roran

"To right a wrong." answered Eragon quietly

--

OK, so , sorry that there isn't much description or much Arya or Roran but next chappie will be better done and stuff.

Review if you so want!

Aeronnen

--


	2. Wrong Righted

Thanks to Hogwarts bad boy, the only one who reviewed! gasp

**Disclaimer: It's all Christopher Paolini's Not Mine.**

Chapter Two

**Wrong Righted.**

Eragon walked to Angela's tent, conversing anxiously with Saphira,

_What words do you think I should use Saphira? Oromis just said ones that counteract with the old blessing._

_Well then, use something as short as possible , so that it cannot be mistaken in any way._

Eragon thought about that carefully._ What about, may the curse that I laid on this child be gone from her mind and body forever, will that work?_

_I think so, little one, it cannot be mistaken._

Eragon nodded ,_ Thanks Saphira, but what about the Dragon mark you made on her brow?_

_I do not know how I made it, therefore I cannot undo it._

_If you say so, anyway it may help her, because we have not met her without the curse on yet._

_Maybe_

They had reached Angela's tent. Eragon was just about to enter when out burst a short figure with a lot of hair.

"Ah, there you are, Blockhead, I hope you've come to see Elva because if not, you'll be hearing the end of my tirade, shortly after which, I have a rather terrible fate for you, which will certainly change the position of your dragon bones!"

Eragon smiled, " Hello Angela,"

"Yet again you show your inarticulateness in alarmingly high levels, now ANSWER MY QUESTION, or Blockhead will not be your only name!!"

Roran looked at Eragon to the frizzy haired woman and back again; why was he letting her insult him in such ways ? Eragon was a dragon rider, that placed him at the top of the ranks, not to mention that he was the only Rider of the Varden, surely she should be more reverent?

_She insults him because she has good reason, and Eragon knows that reason, also, underneath all the rudeness they are really quite fond of each other._

Roran nearly jumped a foot in the air, _Saphira, is that you?"_he queried anxiously

_Yes, Roran, and you will see what the reason is when you enter the tent, _she answered in an amused voice.

Roran was to busy absorbing this piece of information to answer. He turned his attention back to Eragon and the short woman, to find them both staring at him.

"Are you all right Roran,? You just jumped about a foot in the air and then you expression turned vacant."

"What? Oh yes, um, Saphira just contacted me, about ,um, something…." He trailed off.

"Oh, all right then, well, Roran meet Angela the Herbalist, Angela meet Roran Garrowsson, my blood cousin and foster-brother.

Angelas eyes narrowed and she focused sharply on Eragon, " 'Betrayal from within your family?' What has happened!?

"Oh," he said coldly, "the betrayal has already come."

Angela looked surprised, "I thought Garrowsson was your only relative, Eragon?

"Remember you said that one of my grandparents must have mated with an Urgal?"

Angela nodded, not the least abashed.

"Well you were not far of, except it was a generation earlier." he said grimly

She widened her eyes in surprise, but didn't press the point.

"Well what are you waiting for then? Go inside, she's waiting for you."

Roran walked in slightly surprised at her abrupt return to rudeness. Inside the tent was a rather bright green, because the light from the gases of the burning plains shone through the green sheets of the tent.

Lying on a small pallet in the centre of the tent was a small black haired child.

--

Arya sighed. She missed Ellesmera already , which was not exactly unusual, she always missed Ellesmera, since she became the elven ambassador seven decades ago, but now it was not just Ellesmera she missed now, it was her mother too.

She remembered going back to Ellesmera after her first two years being the ambassador, she was extremely nervous, her mother had made it quite clear that Arya was not welcome anymore because of her choice to take the Yawe. It had hurt Arya more deeply than anyone guessed, after being banned from her mothers presence, but she came to a conclusion just before she departed for the Varden, if her mother had chosen to ban her only child from her presence the she was not worth troubling herself over. Yet sometimes Arya could not help thinking it over when she was alone.

Every time she went back to Ellesmera it would be on business between the Varden and the Elves, she would hold council with her mother and heads of the different houses, speaking politely and formally.Never letting anyone see her emotions, and she never stayed in Ellesmera long enough to let anyone see more than her coming and going.

But when her mother wanted to be reconciled with her, half of her had wanted to say straight away, yes, yes, yes, but other half said, what of the seventy years I have been banned from your presence and the pain it caused me, and the nights I have spent trying to forget the biggest cause of suffering in my life?

In the end the other half had been won over by the Heads of Houses sitting around the hall, looking at her expectantly, she couldn't say no, not to the elves she would one day,she thought distastefully, hold council with, as the Queen of the Elves.

Arya's train of thought was interrupted by the mewing of the witch, Angela's , companion the werecat.

"_Eragon is about to undo the curse on Elva, Angela thought you might want to be there, as Nasuada is too."_

_Thank you , Quickpaws, I would like to be there, are they at Angelas tent?" _

"_Yes" _and with that he stalked of with his tail in the air.

_Well_, thought Arya as she walked towards Angelas tent,_ for a werecat he was surprisingly straight forward ,I wonder why?_

--

Eragon walked forward and knelt beside Elva. She stirred as he put his hand on her brow, and sat up.

"Have you come to keep your promise, Shadeslayer?"

Roran shivered and his mouth went dry, it was terrible to hear the voice of cynical grown adult coming from the mouth of a three year old child. _This must be the girl Eragon told me of, that he blessed in the dwarves capital,_ he thought, and then he suddenly understood what Saphira had meant; the child was a very good reason to be rude to Eragon.

Eragon looked at her, sadly, "I have, and I think it will be best if I put you to sleep, that way I think it will be easier."

"If you say so, Shadeslayer, but first let me tell you something," She beckoned to him to lean in closer, "I know what pains you, she does have emotions, and she will find them once she is paired with her other half. Remember what I say Shadeslayer, I have a feeling that my prediction will come true."

"Do not worry Elva, I will. Now, 'Slytha.' "

Elva fell asleep nearly instantly, Eragon then once more placed his hand upon her brow, unaware that he had an audience, closed his eyes and said, in the Ancient Language, 'May the curse that I laid on this child be gone from her mind and body forever.' He opened his eyes, Elva was hovering slightly above the pallet, and as he watched, her dragon mark began to glow brighter and brighter until it reached out to him, and as it connected with him, Eragon felt the most tremendous pain, worse than Durzas' scar, worse then any thing he had ever experienced.

It felt as if thousand's of people were crying out to him in pain, screaming to him to save them, but he could do nothing, and as he tried to struggle away from the magic bands, the pain reached it's climax and it ebbed, leaving him weak and nauseous.

_Here, little one, you need energy, take mine. _

Eragon felt Saphira's energy flow through him and he felt strong again._Thank-you Saphira, I needed that._

_That is all right, Eragon. That was an amazing thing you did then._

_I wouldn't of had to do it if I hadn't cursed her in the first place._

Saphira merely sniffed.

Eragon looked over at Elva,she was lying back on the pallet and seemed to be sleeping peacefully.With some trepidation he entered her mind and felt loose iron bands around her mind, what remained of his curse. He pushed at the bands and slowly eased them from her mind. Eventually the bands fell completely leaving Elva with a normal child's mind.

Returning to the present, he saw Angela scrutinising him closely, "Is it done? Have you lifted the curse?"

Eragon nodded. "There is only one more thing I can do for her,"

For the third time he placed his hand on her brow, and intoned, "Atra gulia un ilian tauter ono un atra ono waise skoliro fra rauthr."

Angela wrinkled her brow. "What did you do?"

"It was the blessing as it was meant to be, it is the last thing I can do for her."

Angela looked at him with an odd expression on her face, "Maybe not the last thing." She turned around and clapped her hands briskly. "Well my Ladies, what may I do for you?"

Eragon spun around, standing near the entrance to tent flap looking at him and Elva, were Nasuada and Arya.

"Arya, Nasuada, I didn't know you were here, when did you arrive?

"Just after you put her to sleep." answered Arya a little quickly.

Nasuada shot her a strange look, but didn't contradict her, "Have you done it, Eragon, lifted the curse?

"I think so, My Lady, though we will not be able to tell until she wakes.

"Did it take much energy, Eragon?" asked Arya with a slight show of concern

Eragon answered her, a little surprised that she was talking to him fairly normally. "Surprisingly little, though I have noticed a significant drain. Saphira gave me energy."

Arya nodded her lips pursed. " Good. Atra esterni ono thelduin. May the stars watch over you," and with that, she left.

"My Lady?"

"Yes, Eragon?"

"Saphira and I should get to work. We will be on the battlefield as we said, and I expect this would be a good time to talk with Roran?

"Actually, I wanted to talk to the both of you together once we reach Surda. But yes, by all means, get to work."

"Of course my Lady.

--

Arya quickly headed to her tent on the other side of the camp, she had a small diamond belt that she needed to put some energy in before she headed out to the healing tents.

As she walked her thoughts turned to Elva and Eragon. Elva had been at every council of Nasuada's and was a very useful asset. Not that Arya really cared, Nasuada, Jormundr and her did fine, it was just that as an elf she loved nature in all it's forms and Elva was about the most unnatural thing she'd ever known or heard about.

She did not really blame Eragon, but if he hadn't healed her, she would have let her unemotional facade go and done something that even Angela would of approved of.

She knew that Murtagh's claim had really hurt him.She also knew that Roran's forgiveness meant everything to him. Nasuada had told her about Roran's bride-to-be, Katrina.

Arya had already made up her mind to go with them to Helgrind,though she had never had the misfortune to meet the Ra'zac.Arya's thoughts turned to the Agaeti Blodrhen. Eragon was such a fool! Of course he would get distracted, it was natural, unfortunately.

Energy belt restored, Arya headed off to the healing tents. This was going to be a long two days.

As Arya quickly jogged to the front of the encampment to tell one of Du Vrangr Gata that they needed more Calming Draughts, when she saw Saphira's head emerging over the makeshift ramparts that Durgrimst Ingietum had constructed, Arya went over and looked for Eragon. A number of soldiers were just starting to ascend the ramparts, but where was Eragon? He had to be there, or Saphira wouldn't be either!

One of the soldiers broke into a graceful jog and caught up with Saphira easily, he cocked his head and looked up at her, they were obviously communicating.

Arya could have kicked herself, it was Eragon!

He reached the top of the ramparts and took his helmet off, an elvin face with deliberate mistakes appeared. Arya felt strange, he had taken her by surprise, the slanted eyes, high forehead were so elflike that it was like looking at one of her own people. But the hair, it was a colour no elf had, it was brown, just brown, but with the elven face it looked so...different.

Arya shook her head and looked away, she had other things to do.

All the necessary arrangements had been made, the Varden and Surdans were ready to leave. The Urgals were also to back to Surda, from there they would go into the edge of the Beor Mountains, where they would be at calling distance in emergencies.

Eragon packed up, thinking hard. Roran wanted to rescue Katrina soon, and to be honest, so did he. Nasuada had requested he stay until everything was moderately stable, so that would be less likely to need a Shurtugal.

"Eragon, are you ready? We are ready to march." Roran shouted to Eragon from across the pavilion.

"Of course." Eragon shouted back.

And the caravan began to move.

--

I meant caravan as in train of people.

O.k 2nd done, it was rushed cause dad is making me get off, pleases review! PLEASE!!

Jen


	3. The Spy

Hey! Has any one seen the BBC adaptation of Robin Hood recently? Probably not, but if you have, imagine Murtagh as Guy of Gisbourne. A baddy, but not devoid of good human emotions.

Thanks very much to Vixen Hood and Hogwarts-bad-boy for reviewing! Any one else care to review? Please?

If there are little stars, it means there are authors notes on it at the bottom.

**17/2/07. **Just edited this, mainly spelling and grammar.

**25/3/07. **Major changes. The part about Trevor is most important.

**Disclaimer: It's all Christopher Paolini's and Random House, Not Mine.**

Chapter Three.

**The Spy.**

**Disclaimer: Read it. You'll find it is so **_not_** Christopher Paolini's.**

Chapter Three.

The Spy.

Eragon stood at the top of a ridge and looked across the land. Far into the distance the Hardarac Desert lay, Saphira's favourite place in Alagaesia, he thought with a smile, remembering her love of the heat and hard-to-catch prey. For him it just brought back bitter-sweet memories of him and Murtagh, crossing the Ramr, avoiding ambushes by Imperial soldiers, drinking thirstily from the water Eragon drew from the sand.

Again Eragon smiled a little, Murtagh's face when Eragon had first drawn water from the ground had been a picture, though he'd tried not to show it. His smile faded as he remembered Murtagh's face as he told Eragon and Saphira of his father.

Eragon shook his head, he had promised not think about, so he wouldn't - _he wouldn't._

"**Barzul!"**

Eragon heard a distant voice swear in the dwarven tongue, he swung round and searched for the owner of the owner of the voice. He finally saw Orik and five other dwarves struggling with Hrothgar's body. Eragon quickly ran to help, he lifted the corner that had dropped and helped the dwarves lift it over the protruding piece of rock that was hindering them.

"Thank-you Eragon," Orik gasped, and the others murmured their thanks as well, "We never expected to be carrying our dead monarch home with us."

"Why don't you just let some others carry him for a while?"

A strong looking dwarf answered" It is our job, as Royal Bodyguards, to carry our great monarch home. Just as it is Knurla Orik's to carry his foster-father as well."

"Ah. Couldn't I, as a member of Durgrimst Ingietum, carry him home as well?"

The dwarves looked at each other, Orik answered, " Yes, it is acceptable; if it isn't, the Council may take it up with me."

Eragon looked at Orik, his short speech had been made in proud kingly tones, ones that reminded him of Hrothgar.

"I will be honoured to carry this great king to his home for the last time."

The dwarves looked pleased. They all stood back from the litter and Eragon picked Hrothgar up and lifted him easily, though he was, as always, surprised how heavy the dwarves were.

And in this fashion, the body guard of Hrothgar King, following the humans, made their way to Surda and then to Tronjheim.

As Eragon stopped quickly to drink out of his water skin, he surveyed the land in front of him. As they had moved further and further south, the air had grown steadily warmer until it was stifling. The Surdans weren't bothered; they were used to the heat. But some of the Varden and the dwarves especially, found the heat nearly unbearable.

Eragon was uncomfortable as well. Even the very hot summers in the Palancar Valley were nothing compared to this. But the land in front of him was completely different from the Palancar Valley.

Surda was dry and mainly pale brown or yellow, all the plants were hardy and made to last a very long time without water, yet it was fertile enough to maintain farms, tanneries, inns,carpenters, and all other things that other parts of Alagaesia must surely have as well.

A shout of "HALT" went up and the whole procession stopped. They were told to go to the training fields where food, drink and healers awaited them.

Eragon was about to follow everyone else, when someone grabbed his arm. He spun round quickly, drawing his hunting knife and bringing it up towards this persons throat. However he found himself looking at Arya. He quickly sheathed his knife and apologized.

"No matter. Nasuada sent me to tell you that she wishes to speak to you and Stronghammer together now."

"Of course, have you told Roran?

"Yes, they're waiting for you."

"Oh."

"Shall we go then?"

"Yes."

Eragon felt awkward, he hadn't talked to Arya easily since before the Agaeti Blodrhen. What was he supposed to say? But Arya solved that problem.

"Your reflexes are very fast."

"Thank-you. I couldn't even of turned round fast before the Agaeti Blodhren."

Arya smiled slightly. "You must enjoy having the ability to move easily again."

"I do, but it's even more amazing having elven abilities."

"Like what?"

"Well-" Eragon had to stop, they had arrived at an ordinary pine door with iron studs and two guards outside.

"This is Nasuada's study."

Arya was about to continue when the door opened and Nasuada looked out, "Arya, Eragon? Hurry up, we're waiting for you."

Arya looked at Eragon,"We'll have to continue this conversation later, Shadeslayer."

He nodded, and they entered her study. It was large and spacious, furnished in pine wood. The windows were boarded up and consequently, the room was stuffy and hot.

"So," said Nasuada as they all were finally seated in her office, "Roran, I want to hear everything that happened in Carvahall. I know it will be hard, but I need to know."

"Of course my Lady," said Roran, and began the Tale of the Siege of Carvahall.

Arya listened to Rorans tale. It was far more exciting, tragic and amazing than any tale she had ever heard in Ellesmera or with the Varden.

_He would make a good commander and leader,_ thought Arya, _it shows the way he got the whole of his village to Surda._ Further thoughts were interrupted by Nasuada.

"So, the population of Carvahall includes an innkeeper, a carpenter, a blacksmith and his two sons, a wise-woman, a tanner and farmers. That means we can find jobs for all of them, and in return they will help the Varden. Roran, you are brave and resourceful man. I would like you to take charge of some men, recently without commander -" her lips thinned at this "- and train and, when the time comes, to lead them into battle. The men from Carvahall will be with this regiment as well."

A stunned silence followed her words until finally Roran said, "I have never been in command of so many, my Lady. Surely there are others you can ask?"

"No, there aren't – and even if there were, I would still ask this of you. You are, of course, under no obligation to accept."

Roran nodded slowly. "I will do my uttermost to come up to your standards, Nasuada."

"I know you will perform admirably. If you have any problems talk to Fredric or Jormundr or me if you can't find them. You may leave."

Roran got up left, obviously very surprised. Nasuada turned to Eragon.

"Eragon, I know you want to go to Helgrind soon, and you may, but first you must go to Tronjheim. Hrothgar's funeral is in five days. After that you may go straight to Helgrind. I do not, however, want to you to take any dangerous risks. You know what is at stake."

Nasuada finished and turned to Arya, "Arya, I know you want to go to Helgrind too," Eragon shot her a surprised glance, "therefore you, Eragon and Roran are to travel to Tronjheim together. Roran will go as ambassador of the humans, you from the elves, and Eragon and Saphira from the Shurtugal. Nar Garzvhog will also accompany you."

Eragon drew in his breath. "Really?"

"Yes Eragon," Nasuada smiled. "Orik is now the Grimstborith of Durgrimst Ingietum and he is going to sign a treaty with the Bolvek tribe. He says that after fighting and travelling with them, he no longer sees them as monsters, he also hopes that other clans will then follow his lead."

There was another silence, until Eragon said, "what of the election of the new King?"

"Ah, well, the dwarves have also decided that you should have a vote along with the clan chiefs."

"What!"

Even Arya was surprised. From what she knew of the dwarves they would never let an outsider cast vote.

Nasuada continued, "Eragon, I know you will do whatever you deem necessary, I have utter faith in you.

A knock on the door came, and the guard said, "Spy from Gil'ead to see you, my Lady."

Nasuada's face brightened."Send him in!"

Eragon watched as the door swung open and a strong swarthy man entered. A broadsword was at his waist and a bow and quiver on his back. He bowed to Eragon, Nasuada and Arya."My Ladies. Argetlam."

"Welcome, Trevor. What news do you bring?"

Trevor shifted on his feet. "Good news and bad news, my Lady."

"Very well. Sit down, and let us have the bad news first."

Trevor gratefully sat and said, "The bad news is that the Empire found me out. I had to flee quickly. They pursued me, but I was always one step ahead of them. However I managed to find out at least three members of the Black Hand."

"Well done!" cried Nasuada. "I can give the names to Trianna – I will take you to her later – and we will soon have them dead."

Trevor nodded at the praise. "Thank-you my Lady. But there is more."

"Oh?" Nasuada said tensely.

Trevor nodded gravely. "Every third sennight, the Red rider comes to Gil'ead." Eragon stiffened. Nasuada crossed her arms. Arya showed now motion at all.

"And what does he do in Gil'ead?" asked Nasuada calmly.

"He does nothing, so far as I could tell. He brings with him a delegation of ... magicians, I suppose they are, but they do nothing and say nothing. I think they are like his ... bodyguards. The dragon does nothing but enjoys -" Trevor sneered, "mutton. Now all the Red Rider does is go to the main citadel. He goes inside with only his bodyguards and remains for at least and hour at each visit. No one knows what he is doing."

Eragon was still digesting this when Saphira contacted him. _Little one, there is something strange about him ... like we've met before._

_I know, I feel it too. But we can't have, can we?_

_Question him, see where he is from._

So Eragon did.

"Trevor, how did you come to be a spy for the Varden?"

"My village was destroyed, so I set out in vengeance."

"What was your village called, Trevor?"

"Oh, it was a small place close to the Ninor River; you wouldn't know it, Argetlam."

A memory suddenly came to Eragon;

_A swarthy man said to Brom and him, "the name's Trevor, under normal circumstances I'd shake your hand,but I think I'll keep my distance"._

To say Eragon was shocked would have been an understatement, for a second he couldn't say anything, then he managed to gasp out ,"Daret!"

"Yes, how did you..."

"Once," said Eragon slowly, "two travellers, man and a young boy came to your village. They asked for supplies and gloves, actually." Eragon watched as recognition dawned on Trevor's face.

"I vaguely remember it, Argetlam," he said cautiously.

"I was that boy and the old man was Brom, founder of the Varden."

It was Trevor's turn to be speechless. Meanwhile Nasuada was looking confused. Arya was merely watching the two men speak impassively.

"Eragon, what is the meaning of this? Do yo know each other?"

"It is along story; I am sure Trevor will tell you. Arya, we will leave first thing tomorrow morning. Be ready. My Lady, Trevor."

As Eragon walked towards the training fields to find Roran, he talked to Saphira.

_Trevor. _Said Eragon to Saphira. _Of the people it could have been..._

_That means Daret was destroyed. _

_I wonder what by? Galbatorixs' Urgals or his soldiers or something else?_

_Maybe only Urgals coming back from their service to the king. Whatever happened, it made him angry and bitter toward the Empire._

_It is terrible, Eragon. Foul traitor, and Thorn and his Rider too. _

_What do you think they were doing in Gil'ead?_

_Some dark magic perhaps. Maybe a torture victim. Whatever it is, we can do nothing. Not until we finish our training. _

_After Helgrind. _

_After Helgrind, _agreed Saphira. _With Arya as well._

_I know, _said Eragon, _I do not understand why she wants to come. _

_Perhaps she wants to help Roran and you. _

_Perhaps she want to kill the Ra'zac. _

_I do not know, Eragon, but no matter your differences, she cares for you, as a friend. _

_And I for her. _

_Then you should have no problems on the journey. How will you get to Helgrind, if there is three of us? _

_We will have to get a horse, I suppose. It is a pity that Snowfire is still with the dwarves. _

_Borrow one from Nasuada. Now, come. I need to hunt. I will show some of the more clever manoeuvres Glaedr taught me. Hold on tight. _Saphira plunged into a graceful dive, then, catching an updraught, spiralled backwards. Eragon whooped in joy.

_That was fun, Saphira. _

_It was, little one. I must hunt now. _

She flew off, tail moving to give her balance. Eragon turned away and began walking back towards the training grounds. Doubtless there would be a need for healers.

--

Major changes to that! Not a great chapter, but it has it's merits.


	4. Safe

Chapter Four

"Can you get food, Eragon?"

"I expect so, but we won't need that much, Arya is bringing her own, and we can get provisions in Tronjheim," Eragon told Roran, "we're fairly close to the Beor mountains here, it'll be a short journey on Dragonback."

"Dragonback" chortled Roran as he packed a woollen blanket into Saphira's saddlebags, "that's different!"

_What is so funny, human? _Saphira's voice broke in on them.

"I-er- nothing!"

_It must be something, _Saphira said in a menacing voice, though Eragon could tell she was teasing, she had developed a fiendish like of teasing Roran in the short time she'd known him. _Tell me human._

"She's teasing you again Roran."

Roran rolled his eyes skyward, and decided not to comment."The sun is getting high, we should leave soon."

"I know, but we have to wait for Arya."

"Ruddy elves! No sense of time at all!" came a voice behind them.

"Hello Orik," said Eragon, as Roran and Saphira added his greetings as well, "what brings you here?"

"Ah well, I need to know how long it will take you to get to Tronjheim, the burial will take place in four days time."

"Oh, less than that, Saphira says that if she flies fast we may reach Farthen Dur in about two nights at the least."

Orik looked relieved, "that is good, the Clan Chiefs will be pleased. Oh and by the way, you have your ceremony to take part in."

"Ceremony? What ceremony?" Eragon was confused.

"Why, your induction into Durgrimst Ingietum of course! What did you think?"

"Oh, I forgot, you don't have to do anything like that, you know."

"Ah, but we do, it is very important! How can you bless the dead properly or pray to Undin,if you are not a proper Knurla? There _must _be a ceremony."

"Did you have one of theses ceremonies when Hrothgar adopted you?"

"Yes, but slightly different, I was already a member of Durgrimst Ingietum, and Hrothgar was taking me into his close family and making me his heir."

"Oh"

"So," Orik carried on, "what are you still doing here? I thought you were to depart at sunrise."

"We're waiting for Arya," said Roran.

"Ruddy elves!" Orik said loudly, "I've said it before and I'll say it again, no concept of time!"

"They're not that bad Orik, you've been to Ellesmera."

"Well I know it! I swear I've got bigger round the waist after going there, all I did was sit around being lazy."

Roran sat back listening to the two friends talk, and lent back against one of the many outcroppings of rock, warmed by the sun, that were dotted all over the training fields.

He was raring to go, the sooner they got to the dwarf city, the sooner they could go and rescue Katrina. He couldn't wait to see her again! Of course, there was the chance that they wouldn't rescue her, but he highly doubted that, he had Eragon and Saphira, and the elf was supposed to be a brilliant fighter.

He still couldn't believe that Nasuada had given him a whole regiment! Though she had given him two months for whatever reasons may occur.

" Here they are!" Eragon said.

Nasuada and Arya were walking across the training fields, talking quietly. When they reached them, it was obvious that Nasuada was in a hurry.

"Eragon, Roran, Saphira, you must excuse me, I am in a hurry. Travel safely, and don't get yourselves killed!"

Eragon smiled, "I won't my Lady."

"Good, be safe, and may what gods there are protect you,"

Eragon thanked her and swallowed, he was slightly confused by her blessing, after what Oromis had said about Gods, he didn't know what to think. He put it away to think about later.

When he looked round Nasuada had gone and Arya was looking at him.

"Shall we go?"

"Yes, but first you need to know how ride Saphira."

Arya's face crossed with some emotion, then it was gone.

"So" Eragon continued, "if you stand first on her elbow, then on her back, you can swing yourself into the saddle, Roran you go first."

Roran gingerly did as Eragon had instructed, and he sat in the saddle with great relief.

"Arya, your turn."

Arya said nothing, but swung herself easily onto Saphira's back. She seemed to dither a bit before in the middle of the saddle, which meant that Eragon would have to sit behind her.

Eragon proceeded to show then how use the thongs on the saddle. Finally they were ready to go. Saphira leapt into the air and shot off, delighted at being in the skies again.

They had been flying for hours before it started to get dark,_how much longer can you fly for? _he asked Saphira.

_Oh, a long while,but I think we should stop now, there is a good place to stop to camp a little way ahead, and Arya is nearly asleep._

She was right. Arya was having difficulty keeping her eyes open, and her head kept nodding with sleep.

_Yes, we should camp, it's really cold now, and I don't want us getting chills._

_You humans are so delicate,_ Saphira yawned dramatically.

Eragon tried to make a retort, but she shut her mind, and he couldn't reach her. Eragon stifled a yawn, and felt his eyes starting to droop. He struggled to keep them open, but in the end he drew some energy from the Belt of Beloth the Wise, which effectively kept him awake.

Arya sighed a little in her sleep, and her head rested against Eragon's back, while her arms encircled his waist, he suddenly felt very hot, Saphira entered his mind again.

_Are you having fun there?_

_Saphira! _

_What?_

Arya's arms tightened around him _You know what! If Arya wakes up she will be very annoyed with me, and since we have only just got back on speaking terms_ ,_ that would be a shame._

_Don't cross bridges before you come to them._

_I'm not!_

Saphira ignored him and said,_ the camp place is just there, I will land gently, no need to wake the others, just put the thongs in place._

_Done._

_Good. Here we go._

Saphira did indeed land carefully, though it woke Arya.

Arya was woken gently by something from her Elven slumber, her eyes fluttered, she wriggled a bit, then found something wrong. She wasn't lying down, she was sat upright, with her head leaning against something...

Arya dragged her eyes open, and looked around, then she remembered! She was on Saphira and was sleeping on...on... Eragon's back, and her arms were round his waist!

She looked up, he was staring ahead, but when he felt her stir, he looked down and smiled.

"I was wondering when you would wake. We've arrived at a place to pitch camp."

Arya didn't want to move, she was comfy where she was, then she briskly shook herself, and got up and slid down Saphira's side.

Eragon made a fire, and threw some vegetables in a small pot to boil over it. Arya and Roran took out their bed rolls and laid them out near the fire.

After they had eaten Eragon spoke, " I will take first watch,then Roran, Saphira, then Arya."

"No, Eragon, I will take first watch, I slept on-on Saphira, I am not tired."

Eragon looked at her for a moment then nodded, "all right. I have extra blankets in the saddlebags, it's very cold in theses mountains all year round, even more so in the winter."

After Eragon and Roran were bundled in blankets by the glowing fire, Arya took a few left to her by Eragon, and sat by the fire, ears open for any unusual sounds. There was nothing. Arya started thinking about that long flight. After Saphira's first few loop-the-loops and backward corkscrews her stomach had settled and she had started to enjoy the flight. It had made her tired though, she'd tried to stop herself falling asleep, she hadn't managed it, because she woke up against Eragon's back!

When she had woken up and felt herself leaning against Eragon she felt...safe. Just safe, but for Arya it was something special. Until recently Ellesmera hadn't been somewhere to feel contented, because of the rift with her mother.

The Varden were a rebel state, not somewhere to feel safe.

While she had been asleep on Eragon's chest she had felt safe and guarded, something she hadn't felt since she was a child. She hadn't realised how much she missed it, but no doubt she would never feel it again for another hundred years. Arya felt vulnerable, her emotions were tumbling around inside her, another thing she was not used to.

Arya was wrapped in deep thought an hour later, when the dark lump that was Eragon shifted and sat up. He got up and walked over to her.

"It's my watch, you can sleep now, use some of my blankets if you're cold."

Arya stood up to thank him, he looked her in the eye, his intense brown eyes captured her own and for once she broke eye contact. When she looked back at him he was looking at her softly.

"You should sleep now," he said gently, "we will be starting early again in the morning."

She could do nothing but nod, an odd catch in her throat. She crawled into her bed roll, fighting the lump in her throat. Why did she feel like this? So confused and wretched.

Arya buried her face into the blankets, but couldn't stop a single tear from swimming around her eyelids. She buried herself deeper into the bed roll, praying for sleep to take her.

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_**Reviews please!!! **_


	5. Laughter and Mountain Goats

Thanx to all my wonderful reviewers!you are the Best!

Hey! Umm I really don't get the Elven sleep, so I'll just go with normal sleep, I think, it must be terrible not to sleep though!

**Disclaimer:**** It's all C.P's and Random House.**

Chapter Five

Roran grumbled as Eragon woke him for the last watch, the last watch was always the worst, as he had learnt when travelling to Surda with Carvahall.

Still grumbling under his breath, he stoked up the fire and drew some of his blankets around him, eyes and ears open.

He looked over at Eragon, it was hard to see him because Saphira had her wing over him,they were both apparently sleeping peacefully, though when Roran had caught sight of Eragon 'sleeping' his eyes had been open, but unfocused. It was strange, Roran didn't want to broach the subject with him, Eragon was still a bit distant about his appearance and new abilities. Maybe it was something all Riders had.

About an hour and a half later, they finally stirred, Saphira first. She opened her bony eyelids and cocked her head at him. Y_ou should make some food, Eragon and Arya will be up soon, they would appreciate it._

_Fine. But I would rather sleep._

Saphira coked her head again,_ funny, I thought that was your belly rumbling just then._

_Saphira lay off, would you? I'm making food now!_

She lifted the side of her lip a little, D_o not talk to me like that, manling. It is ...dangerous._

He regarded her suspiciously,_ You're teasing me again aren't you? _

"Actually she's not this time Roran, I would advise you to be careful." Eragon had woken up.

Roran sighed in a mock long-suffering way, "Why do I put up with you two?"

Saphira lifted another lip,_Because you need us to rescue Katrina, because you need us to kill the Ra'zac, and because you need us to find your way out of these mountains. Is that clear? _

"_Now _she's teasing you, Roran."

Saphira was not to be sidetracked, _I said, is that clear, manling?_

Roran, feeling safer, gave a salute and snapped to attention, " Sir, yes Sir!"

_Shouldn't that be, 'Ma'am yes, Ma'am' ?_

Roran again saluted and stood to attention, "Ma'am, yes Ma'am!"

That was it, everyone broke into peals of laughter, that echoed of the gnarled pines and sharp boulders, and also waking Arya.

Arya woke to the sound of laughter, she did a double-take, laughter? Yes laughter. Eragon, Roran were laughing very hard, and even Saphira was as well, her lips were pulled back in a strange way, and wreaths of smoke curled from her nostrils. Arya stared at this sight, why were they so happy?

Eragon noticed her, and pulled himself together.

"Good morning! Breakfast will be ready shortly. Roran was so kind as to start it," Eragon cast a half despairing, half amused look at Roran and Saphira, who were still laughing and rolling around, "though he seems incapable of finishing."

Arya allowed herself a small smile, and sat down near Eragon, keeping wisely away from Roran, who was still incoherent. "What is so funny?"

"Long story,"said Eragon, but he told her anyway, so she didn't feel left out. "Saphira has developed a love of teasing Roran, Roran has developed a friendship with Saphira, they keep teasing each other, while I play referee. It's quite funny."

Arya smiled, she felt much better than she had last night, "You do not mind, then?"

"No! Certainly not, it seems strange, but Saphira has never really talked to a human like a friend very much, she enjoys it."

Arya looked over at the two of them, they were talking now, "they seem very good friends."

"They are. Did you sleep well last night?"

"I- yes, I did, you?

"Oh, well enough, but don't ask Roran that."

"Why not?"

"He'll grumble about having last watch. He hates it!"

"Oh."

Arya was quiet for a while, it was nice just to be silent , before asking, "How long will it take us to get to Tronjheim?"

"If Saphira flies non-stop, we will get there in perhaps seven hours? Eight? But we should arrive before Hrothgar."

The thought of Hrothgar brought back the memories of Murtagh, and his theft of Zar'oc, she wondered how Eragon was coping, fine, it seemed. She couldn't ask though, could she?

"Have you got a new sword?"

"I took one off a dead soldier." Eragon's voice was cold and emotionless.

Arya plunged on, "what type is it?"

Eragon wordlessly unbelted the sword and gave it to her, she took it and examined it, it was no different from hundreds of other sword that soldiers carried. She shook her head.

"You can't fight with that! You are a Rider you should have something better. This would break with a strong hit, and it is too clumsy."

"I know, but I will not ask for a better one."

Arya said nothing. He didn't know the secrets of Ellesmera and the inhabitants. Perhaps it was best if he didn't.

They quickly breakfasted and were flying again, at low altitude, so that they wouldn't freeze. They made a quick stop for lunch and once again took to the skies. Saphira was concentrating on speed and endurance, she was flying at a steady pace.

It was dark again, and Saphira was getting tired. They stopped again for the night. Arya was just as tired as she had been the night before, she hadn't been able to catch a nap this time.

Eragon jumped off, closely followed by Arya, while Roran carefully climbed down.

The camp-place was rocky little hollow, a few gnarled pines adorning the sides. A freezing cold little mountain stream ran down the edge of the rocks.

_Good place to camp, Saphira._

"_I know, we were getting low on water. _Saphira hesitated a bit, _Arya seems...better today._

_Oh?_ said Eragon as he spread his bed-roll out, _she seemed fine yesterday._

Saphira sighed, _didn't she seem a bit quiet?_

_She doesn't talk much anyway._

_But she looked pale,a bit...washed out._

_I did notice that actually, it was probably that she was just tired from the flying, your backwards corkscrews were a bit violent._

_I don't think so,_Saphira sounded hesitant, _it was after- after she woke up from her...sleep._

_I suppose, s_aid Eragon as he threw vegetables into the pot. _But what cam I say to her? I don't think it's a good idea to ask her personal questions. Not after the Agaeti Blodrhen._

_No, _Saphira mused,_ but I can._

_No! Saphira, you can't!_

_Why not?_

_Because, well, because, I don't know, but it's not a good idea._

_I will judge for myself._

Eragon admitted defeat, _fine, but not until we reach Tronjheim._

_Fine._

This time Eragon had last watch, he sat near the fire and meditated, like he had in Ellesmera. His mind touched Saphira, she knew what he was doing and didn't bother him, then Roran, peacefully sleeping, then to Arya, she seemed to be awake, though her mind was as heavily guarded as always.

Eragon's thoughts turned to other things, and nothing happened for a while.

Eragon was reaching out his mind to check there was nothing hostile around. He was just about to withdraw back into his own mind, when he sensed something strange on the outskirts of the camp. He drew his sword and was just making his way towards the thing, when someone mumbled. Eragon looked round and saw Arya sitting up, looking at him.

"What are you doing Eragon?" she whispered.

"I sensed something strange on the edge of the camp, I was going to find out what it was."

"I'm coming too."

He nodded acceptance, and together they both made their way to where the strange thing was.

They crept up to it and Eragon said in a menacing voice, "You are surrounded. Stand still and put your weapons down."

There was a silence, then; "Baaaa"

It was a mountain goat. Eragon looked at Arya, she looked back at him, Eragon snorted with laughter and Arya followed shortly afterwards.

Peal after peal of laughter rang across the little valley, resounding against the boulders and ringing high up into the sky.

A little way away Roran and Saphira woke to the sound of laughter, from their two other companions. Roran knew one, it was Eragon's, he had grown up knowing it, the other was like the trill of a mockingbird, or a mountain stream on a spring morning.

Soon though, Eragon and Arya emerged, still chuckling over something. He had never seen Arya look so happy, but then he hadn't seen Arya very much anyway.

"Where were you?" he asked them once they got into hearing distance.

"We heard a disturbance over there," he said, gesturing behind them, "it was nothing though."

"Oh." Roran regarded them suspiciously, "what's so funny then?"

"You are just like Eragon," Arya told him, "you have as many questions as leaves on a tree."

"Huh."

Eragon grinned at them across the fire, as he chopped carrots for the broth, and Arya smiled back, she felt happy, bubbling over with mirth, and she was enjoying the feeling.

She leant back as she leant back as she listened to Eragon and Roran, and occasionally Saphira, talk. If this is how Eragon and Roran tended to get on, she reflected, his home in Carvahall must have been pleasant.

Saphira watched Arya from underneath her bony eyelids, perhaps she wouldn't need to have that talk with her after all. Eragon seemed to be doing fine, and she was happy to leave it like that.

They had only been flying for three hours, when Eragon looked down and recognized the valley beneath them, it was the one that, him Murtagh and Saphira, with Arya tied to her belly on a stretcher of birch branches, had fled in towards the Varden.

Before long lake Kostha Merna was in view. Saphira landed as close as possible to the hidden gates.

Roran, slightly nonplussed (he had only been told that this was the entrance to the dwarf city) stood by, and watched as Eragon banged a round stone to the rock and shouted some words in a strange language.

A loud grinding noise sounded from behind the waterfall. Eragon beckoned and all four of them passed through the waterfall. Roran gasped, they were in a small ante room, with two twelve-foot-high doors at the end of it. As he watched one door opened. Eragon took them swiftly through.

They had entered a huge tunnel, lit with pale sapphire light. Roran barely noticed as a group of dwarves and humans emerged from the tunnel and started talking to Eragon and Arya. Finally they started to move again, deeper into the mountain. They soon entered an amazing room, made of pure white marble, a statue of a strange animal with thick quills stood in the middle.

They had gone maybe a league into the mountain when they came to another two magnificent doors. They were swung open straight away. Roran gasped. The were in a massive volcanic crater, it's sides tapered to a small point where a beam of soft light came down towards them. The other side of the crater was about ten miles away, hazy blue in the distance. Long pale icicles hung from the ceiling, high above.

The path ran straight ahead, towards a glittering snow-white city, right in the centre of the crater.

Eragon, grinning broadly, turned to him and said, "Welcome to Tronjheim, Roran."

All Roran could do was gape. He was speechless.

There you are! Finally in Tronjheim,Please _Please **Please **_review! Thanx.


	6. Training

Eragon's dram is one I had, only it was someone snoring, not a dragon!

**Training.**

Chapter Six.

Roran yawned and stretched, before lazily opening his eyes to gaze around his new living quarters. It was a white marble room, with perfectly vertical walls, utterly symmetrical. A pattern of red rubies of varying size traced the roof, while elegant heatless lamp hung from an elaborate chandelier. The washroom was off to the side of his bedroom. It had running water, hot and cold. Everywhere Roran looked there was fancy tracery, inlaid jewels and other fine things.

He, Roran Garrowsson, was _living_ in a _fortune_, more than any farmer of the Palancar Valley could even hope of seeing, let alone owning as his own rooms.

Roran stretched again, then started to dress. Eragon had said he would call in the morning. Roran assumed it was the morning, though it was hard to tell, because he had slept for what seemed like a good ten hours.

He hoped he would be able to talk to Eragon soon, properly. As soon as they had arrived Eragon had been whisked away, talking with important men and dwarves. He hadn't forgotten Roran though, Roran had been fed and watered and brought to this 'small travellers quarters' as the dwarf that had shown him to his rooms had said.

Eragon had visited shortly afterwards to say that he should get some sleep, and he, Eragon, would call in the morning, because he was going to the Dragon Hold, or some such place.

Ah, well, it was morning now, Eragon should be along soon, he'd just have to wait.

Arya woke, snapping her catlike eyes open quickly, before relaxing. She was back in Tronjheim, in her room she'd had ever since she joined the Varden seventy years ago.

It was sort of good to be back, even for Hrothgar's funeral.

She yawned and sat up, reaching for her clothes, the death of Hrothgar was a terrible thing for the Dwarven nation and the Varden, and by extension, Surda and the Elves.

The funeral would be terrible, she thought, full of weeping dwarves, sniffling into their beards, and solemn humans. Then there would speeches from respective people, her self included. She was sad for Hrothgar, but he was gone, his body would return to the nature it had come from, though the dwarves would have you believe that he was going to Heaven, the loss would be to the rebel nations.

Arya lost this train of thought as she wondered what she was supposed to do for the day,with Ajihad she had always been on hand, with Nasuada her council had been even more important, but they weren't around, so what was she supposed to do with her time?

Well, first things first, the canteen, she was hungry. Then perhaps the training fields.

_**Eragon, Roran and Katrina were sitting on a hill, overlooking Carvahall, with Horsts' magnificent house beneath them. They talked about silly things when Eragon became aware of a strange rumbling, gurgling, snorting noise. It came from over the far hill. As the three of them watched, tall fiery shapes began to emerge from the top of the far hill.**_

_**They were tall and hugely out of proportion, no features were visible but as they walked with long loping strides they let out long terrifying snorting noises. Suddenly Eragon knew what they were! Heliopaths, spirits of fire, the emissaries of the Dwarven gods! **_

_**They were getting closer and closer, the three of them tried to run, but they were stuck in place, the Heliopaths were so close it was possible to see wide gaping mouths and-**_

Eragon woke, heart beating fast, the image of the dream sill visible in his mind's eye, before he calmed down slightly, and crashed back onto the pillow. But then the sound from his dream came again, he looked round in alarm, then relaxed and smiled. The noise was Saphira having a dream! He reached out to her mind and had a slight vision of a sapphire blue dragon fighting a half-Nagra, half-Fedunost on the Stone of Broken Eggs in Ellesmera. Eragon smiled again, Saphira was probably enjoying one of her favourite dreams, she had wanted to hunt a Feldunost since she had seen one in Celbedeil.

He rolled upwards, and dressed, he had said he would go to Roran in the morning, they could eat in the canteen, though they had been sleeping for a good ten hours, hopefully there would still be enough food left.

It took nearly ten minutes to wake Saphira, in the end he had to enter her dream and tell her to WAKE UP! She did, and in a matter of minutes they were flying down to Tronjheim.

He quickly asked a dwarf if he knew where Roran Stronghammers lodgings were, he was on the second floor of Vol Turin, the travellers floor.

Eragon easily found the door, and knocked, there was a mumbled 'hang on' and soon Roran was at the door.

"Morning Roran, are you hungry? We're going to the canteen know."

"Oh Gods yes! I could eat a whole deer."

_I could eat two._

"You normally eat two, Saphira."

_I know, I hope they have some substantial thing for me today, or they'll have to let me out hunt._

"They will, they'll do anything for you, you're going to fix the Star Rose."

_Yes. _Saphira sounded worried now,_I know that I can do it, but I don't think that it's ready. Has anyone said anything to you? _

"No, but I didn't ask, we only arrived yesterday."

_We'll see._

"The Star Rose? The one Saphira and Arya broke when you fought the Shade?" Roran remembered this.

"Yes."

Eragon sounded strange, was it regret, anger, fear?

_Eragon will tell you as you eat._

As they ate, Saphira tearing at a bloody haunch, Eragon did indeed answer all the questions Roran wanted to know. They were just taking about Carvahall, and what certain members would make of Tronjheim, when Arya came up.

"Atra esterni ono thelduin,"

"Mor'ranr lifa unin hhjarta onr." replied Eragon glibly.

Arya turned to the others, Eragon noticed that she winced slightly as she looked at Saphira and her breakfast, "good morning, Bjartskular, Roran, may I sit with you?"

"Of course," Eragon pulled out a chair for her, and she sat down.

"We were just talking about Horst," said Roran.

"Who is that?"

"Carvahall's smith. He is very skilled."

"What about him?"

"He would love to be here, the skills he could learn, the materials there are to craft with."

"So would Albriech and Baldor."

"Did you know that Albriech was going to be an apprentice in Ceris, just like Horst did?"

"Was he? I never knew. I thought he would stay with Horst." Eragon asked with surprise.

"Yes, because someone from Therinsford-"

Roran broke off as Saphira contacted him,_ don't you think you talk about something that includes Arya? She asked to sit with you and all you talk about is things she does not understand._

Eragon felt ashamed, "I apologise, Arya, for ignoring you, we got carried away, it is good to talk about home."

She smiled at him, "Apology accepted, Eragon, I understand what it is like."

He smiled back, "What were you thinking of doing today?"

She sighed, "I don't know, I've never had so much spare time since I first came to Tronjheim. Normally I go to the training fields. Have you got any plans?"

"I was going to show Roran round Tronjheim, but now you mention it the training fields would be a good idea."

"What can I do in the training fields? I've only got my bow and hammer."

Eragon grinned at him, "How does a sword sound?"

Arya stifled laugh, "You should learn, Roran, you will need it when you lead your battalion to war."

Roran looked at them, "When do we start?"

"First we start with these." Eragon held up two imitation swords made of wood that he had whittled quickly as Roran finished his food.

Roran looked at the sticks sceptically, "I am not a child, Eragon, I can hold a sword."

"This is how Brom taught _me." _Eragon's face hardened slightly, "so this is how I will teach you."

Roran felt the hard tone in his cousins voice and took a stick-sword, he didn't want an argument, and waited for Eragon to continue.

" The first defensive move is this, you need to spread your legs wide, wider, that's it, then..."

Arya listened to Eragon teaching his cousin swordsmanship, as she waited for an archery target to be free. If Roran was anything like Eragon, he would be an amazing swordsman, by human standards, anyway. He would probably not be able to even touch Eragon for a very long time.

The two were soon doing very basic sparring, slowly and carefully. They gradually got faster until Roran was really being challenged.

Roran was getting red in the face from tiredness and anger at never being able to touch his opponent, he made some wild desperate swings, and she heard Eragon tell him;

"Don't vent your anger like that, you make wild swings which go off course and make you vulnerable, channel your anger, use it to give you energy, surprise your opponent."

Roran got a little redder and renewed his assault.

Eragon dealt him a bad blow, and Roran jumped back, cursing.

"What did you do that for? There was no need to hit so hard."

"A real enemy would not soften his blows and neither will I."

Arya smiled, she recognized that saying, it was one of Brom's favourite's. It didn't seem to be going down well with Roran. He dropped his sword-stick and turned away. A moment later he yelled as Eragon hit his back.

"Never turn your back on an enemy!" barked Eragon.

Roran, deciding not to give up so quickly, picked his sword up again and the two started again. Eragon, however, didn't keep him at it much longer and Roran, growling curses and red in the face made his way back to his room to recuperate.

Eragon watched him go, then turned and picked up the swords with a faraway look on his face, so he didn't notice Arya approach.

"Would you like to spar?"

He smiled, "I would love to, Arya Svit-Kona. "

They faced each other, neither making a move until Arya lunged forward then feinted right and dodged to the left, Eragon countered it, and struck at her left, right, left again, Arya took the offensive, and rained strokes down on him, none of which reached their target.

They fought for at least an hour, neither gaining and opening, a huge crowd had gathered, watching Argetlam and Lady Arya fight.

They would of carried on for another hour had a shout not gone up across the training field.

"**The dwarves are here!"**

"**Lady Nasuada has arrived!"**

Arya and Eragon quickly stopped, "let's go."

Arya nodded, and they both ran toward the entrance of Tronjheim, while the humans tried to catch up. A whispering silence held the city in it's grasp.

Sure enough the dwarves, Orik leading, were walking slowly, while the Hrothgar's Royal Bodyguard carried his litter in the middle of the battalions.

At the back marched two battalions of the Varden, Nasuada in full armour leading them towards the centre of the city.

But it was the army in between that was causing the crowd to whisper and mutter.

Nar Garzvhog lead what was left of his army, head proudly held, chin tilted upwards in the Urgal sign of truce. His Kull likewise looked to neither right nor left, they stared straight in front of them.

The crowd started to shout and boo, until a crier shouted, "Silence! Silence for the dead King Hrothgar!" and the crowd subsided.

Eragon and Arya followed the armies into Tronjheim centre, where Orik stood on a small podium above the crowd, and made a short speech.

" You may be wondering why these Urgals are in our blessed city. I will tell you.

In the Battle of the Burning Plains, Nar Garzvhogs Kull fought beside us. His best warriors fought with me and five other dwarves, beside Rider Eragon Shadeslayer and Saphira Brightscales. Nearly thirty of their best warriors fell." The crowd was silent, Orik continued,

"They have sworn fealty to Lady Nasuada of the Varden, and they come here, to our city, to sign a treaty with me, as Grimsborith of Durgrimst Ingietum, and I will sign a treaty with them."

"They wish to throw down the Black King in Uru'Baen , and will fight beside us, as we will fight with them."

"I wish for peace with the Bolvek tribe!"

The crowd was silent, then it broke into a low murmuring, some looked mutinous, others were nodding, but most wore expressions of speechless surprise.

Slowly they broke into cheers and boos in equal measure.

Orik bobbed his head and left the podium. He told his soldiers to go to the third floor of Vol Turin, the Varden went to the second floor, the Kull were directed to the fourth floor.

As the last soldiers left, Orik and Nasuada made their way to Arya and Eragon.

"Hello My Lady"

Nasuada smiled at him, "It's good to see you, Eragon, and you, Arya."

"Hello Eragon, Arya! How long have you been here?" Orik echoed.

"We arrived last night."

"Ah, so we had good timing then.

"Very, Arya and I were duelling when you arrived."

"Where is Roran?"

"He's probably in his quarters, relaxing."

"But it's only eleven o'clock! Why is he so tired?"

"I was teaching him swordplay, with Brom's methods. I left him with rather a lot of bruises."

Nasuada smiled, "Would you both come to my study? It has been kept in condition for me.

The four of them wound their way through the maze of passages in Tronjheim until they came to the handsome walnut wood study, that had once been Ajihad's.

Nasuada sat on a comfy chair and gestured for them to do the same.

Nasuada looked at them for a moment before starting to talk.

"As you know the Kull and Orik will sign the treaty after Hrothgar's funeral. We can only hope it will go well. The problem is the election of the new dwarf king. Eragon, you will have to cast vote."

"Who are the candidate's?"

Orik answered, "Gannel, of Durgrimst Quan, Undin, of Durgrimst Razgni Hefthyn , Grimsborith Samazvhog of-of," Orik hesitated, "You are not going to like this Eragon; Samazvhog of Az Sweldn rak Anhuin."

"What?!"

Nasuada nodded heavily, "Yes, I am afraid it is true Eragon."

Arya spoke out, cool and apparently calm, "How likely is it that he will be elected?"

This time Orik answered, "Az sweldn Rak Anhuin is not a very large clan, but they have the sympathy of many, a lot of Knurla still remember the Fall, and Az sweldn Rak Anhuin's downfall. They will be valid competition."

Eragon was still slightly stunned by Orik's revelation, "Are they the only candidates?"

Nasuada smiled widely, and Orik shuffled his feet, he looked like he had turned red behind his beard, "I-well-I am a candidate as well."

Nasuada, still grinning, said, "Yes! Orik is a candidate, so all hope is not lost, he has a lot of support from Durgrimst Urzhadn, and other clans, including, of course, Durgrimst Ingietum."

"That is excellent Orik! Do you want to be King?"

"I wish to follow in Hrothgar's footsteps, I will rule as he has done." Orik said it quietly, but proudly.

Eragon was quiet for a moment, just looking at Orik, the he said, "I think you would make an excellent King, Orik. You would make an admirable substitute for Hrothgar."

_I too, believe that your rule as King would be excellent._ Agreed Saphira.

Orik looked slightly overwhelmed, "Thank-you, but perhaps we are thinking to far ahead. The treaty with the Kull is most important."

"When are you going to do it?" asked Arya.

"We need to find out who will be King. The funeral is in three days, for those three day the whole of the dwarven nation will fast. After the funeral, the new King will be decided. We will then celebrate and feast for another three days. Such is the custom of the dwarves, we have done so since our founding father, Korgan, and so it shall always be."

"So we shall just have to wait." Eragon said.

"Yes, but on to happier things. Eragon, your adoption ceremony will be during the three days feasting." Nasuada grinned again, "it should be ..._interesting _to say the least."

Eragon felt faintly worried, "what do they do?" he asked Orik

"Ah! But I can't be telling you that. 'Tis something that cannot be revealed." Orik grinned, "and I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise, would I?"

Eragon groaned slightly, "you just like keeping me in suspense, don't you?"

"Yes we do Eragon."

"Is there anything else My Lady?" asked Arya.

"I would like to see Roran, I have a few things about Carvahall to discuss with him."

"I will tell him right away." said Eragon.

"Good. You are dismissed then, Arya would you stay? I need information about the Elven Mages."

Arya nodded and stayed on her chair,while Eragon and Orik bowed and left.

"Saphira and I will go tell Roran now," Eragon told Orik, "then would you like to go to the training fields with us? I have not much experience of sparring with an axeman as skilled as you."

Orik rolled his eyes, but he looked pleased, " fine, but please remember that I am not as fast as an elf, and I would like all my body parts working fairly well by the end of today."

Eragon grinned, "I promise Orik."

"I will see you at the training fields Orik"

The dwarf nodded.

Eragon swung himself into Saphira's saddle and they were soon on Vol Turin's third level. He knocked on Roran's door, Roran answered it slightly reluctantly.

"Hello Eragon, come to batter me some more?"

Eragon ignored this, "Nasuada wants to see you in her study."

"Oh, what about?"

"She can will you herself, but you'd best hurry up, she is waiting for you."

"Right." Roran pulled on his boots and they exited the room quickly.

"My floor has suddenly been invaded with Dwarf warriors." Roran told Eragon, once they were walking.

"Oh yes, Hrothgar's funeral caravan arrived along with the Varden and the Kull."

"I know, one of them told me."

"Here we are," said Eragon, " just knock and wait for her to answer, I'll see you later, alright?"

Roran nodded and knocked, Nasuada answered immediately,"Come in!"

Eragon left as Roran entered the study. He made his way back to the training fields, sparring with Orik would be good experience.

Hey! That was loooong! I am sopping wet, it was my birthday today, mum got me 2 chickens! OMG I couldn't believe, they were in a cardboard box and the lid blew off, and me mum, my granny and the postman were all trying to catch them! We did in the end.

Then our Guineapigs escaped and it took one and a half hours dong that, and then I had to go look after our horse, and he'd jumped his gate!

One helluva birthday!

Don't forget to drop in a review!

Thanx!


	7. The Child

Chapter seven.

_A Child._

_Little one,I admire your loyalty to Hrothgar, but when you're permanently hungry it distracts me, even when I am well fed._

_I'm sorry, Saphira, but it is my duty as one of Durgrimst Ingietum. I can sever our contact if you like._

_No, no, little one, it is all right, but I am glad that the funeral is tomorrow._

_Mmmm, _said Eragon absentmindedly,_ I think I will go to the training fields._

_Little one, that is all you have done since we arrived, can't you do something else?_

_Like what? Anyway Roran has to be trained if he wants to defeat the Ra'zac._

_I know, little one, but you will hurt yourself if you continue to not eat, and spar so much! And I think Arya has noticed too._

_Has she? _Said Eragon, startled, _I doubt that she has, she has more important thing to do, anyway what is there to notice?_

_Well, for one thing, your stomach rumbles a lot,and you are looking a little thin._

_No thinner than all the rest of the dwarven nation, _Eragon answered stubbornly.

_Oh, little one, I was not questioning your honour, but your hunger **is** distracting._

Eragon laughed, _I think it is worse for me._

_Probably little one, I am glad that I am not bound by such...honour._

_I am bound by my honour, _thought Eragon, _but I am glad I have it, after all, Garrow held his honour higher than most things, and Roran and I were raised by him and Aunt Marian_

Eragon's stomach rumbled, he had not eaten for two days, and he would not eat again until the three-day feasts after the crowning ceremony of the new dwarf king. Saphira, true to her independent race, did not fast, though it did not mean that she was any less upset than him.

Roran was not fasting, and he had no reason to either. He was not a dwarf and he had never known Hrothgar. Roran respected Eragon's decision and did not really bother him, except for the odd joke now and then.

Arya, too, was not fasting, Eragon would not have expected her to, she probably felt it stupid to go hungry for a dead person. However, he, Eragon would do it to honour the dead King, just as all the rest of the dwarven nation would

Eragon's stomach rumbled again, Eragon ignored it, he had gone for longer without food in the Palancar valley, and besides,a good, hard training session would help him ignore it better.

When they reached the training fields, Roran was already there, swinging the stick-sword that he was so tired of.

"Hello brother," he called, "I thought you had finally broken your fast and cleaned the kitchens of food."

Eragon laughed and shoved his cousin in the ribs, "Ready for another duel, Roran?"

Roran sighed, "I suppose."

The two took their positions and started circling, until Eragon darted left and struck Roran on the ribs, but Roran twisted away and took the defensive.

_Good,_thought Eragon, _he is starting to learn more subtle tactics ._

Eragon and Roran sparred for at least an hour, Roran did not hit Eragon, yet his technique was very good, and Eragon struck him far less blows than normal, though Eragon noticed that he winced occasionally when Eragon's blow was a bit harder than normal.

Finally Eragon let up, "that was excellent Roran! We can start with real swords now!"

Sweat was pouring off Roran, "Swords? Hellfire, I thought I'd be pleased to hear that, but I'm too tired to care now!"

Eragon smiled, "Sorry Roran, I forgot,we'll start in the afternoon then?"

Roran nodded and headed off in the direction of the washrooms.

Eragon looked around, there was no one who would challenge him, he sighed, wishing there was an elf he could spar with. He pulled out his elven bow and took up position in front of one of the sack-cloth dummies and aimed. Again and again the arrows hit their targets, when Eragon needed to collect them, he ran down and picked them out himself. He relished the exercise, though after a while it became boring. There are only a so many times that you can shoot your whole quiver of arrows. Once more he wished he had an elf to spar with.

Arya watched Eragon shoot his sack-cloth dummy full of arrows many times before he stopped. Arya knew that he was fasting, like the dwarves. He looked a little thin and when the training field emptied for lunch, he stayed where he was.

Arya had no idea why she hadn't revealed herself before, it wasn't like she was hiding or anything, but she didn't really want to speak to anyone just then, not that anyone would, after all, she was an elf. The normal soldiers never talked to her unless they had a message for her.

Finally Arya walked over to Eragon, as he started to shoot another quiver load into his sack dummy.

Eragon had just loosed his first arrow when a beautiful, familiar voice spoke behind him.

"Atra esterni ono thelduin."

Eragon spun round surprised, when he realized what she had said, he became even more surprised, she had spoken first! "Mor'ranr lifa unin hjarta onr."

Arya smiled a little at his surprise, "Greetings Eragon, how are you?"

"I am fine, Arya Svit-Kona," Eragon replied, "And you?"

"Well enough. How long have you been here this morning?"

"Since I woke up, about seven."

"You have been here four hours? That is a long time, haven't you got something else to do?"

"Not really. I hope to go to Helgrind as soon as the crowning ceremony is over."

"I will come too."

Eragon nodded silent, before saying gently, "Thank-you."

"For what?"

"Just for coming. It-it means a lot to Roran...and me."

Arya didn't really know what to say, what could she say? He wasn't trying to woo her again, he was just thanking her. "I-well, I wanted to help."

"It will be good have Katrina back. Garrow said, before Roran left, that it would be good have the family growing again,and it will be."

Arya again, didn't know what to say, "did-did you know Katrina well in Carvahall?"

"Fairly well. I like her, it will be good to have her as a sister in law!" Eragon laughed.

"I have never fought the Ra'zac before. Do you think we will win?"

"Yes. Saphira can take care of the Llethrblaka, and maybe I will help her, if there is the need. Roran, me and you can take care of the Ra'zac." A look of grim humour entered his face, "I will enjoy having my revenge on them."

Arya suddenly felt a rush of emotions, she felt sorry for him, and the pain the Ra'zac had made him endure, she felt happy for him, that he had a brother, and she felt something else, something she had couldn't identify, and it confused her. Just as the two were about fall into silence a boy of about twelve, with shaggy hair, dagger-like teeth and a short knife belted round his waist, ran up.

Arya started in surprise, but Eragon merely said, "Good day, Solembum, what brings you here?"

_Angela says that you have to come and see her. Now. _

_Thank-you Solembum, where is she?_

_The same place as last time._

_Ah. Can Arya come?_

_Perhaps..._and with that Solembum scampered off.

"Do you want to come?" Eragon asked Arya.

"Yes, alright."

When Eragon and Arya arrived outside Angela's rooms in the deserted corridor on one of the higher levels, they found Solembum sitting outside, licking his paw, he looked at them impudently before butting the door with his head.

The door swung open and Eragon and Arya entered.

The room was warm and humid, filled with rambling green plants and dried herbs and mushrooms. Lying on a small pallet in a corner was a small black-haired something.

"There you are, blockhead! It's about time!"

Eragon grinned, "hello to you too, Angela."

"Good day Angela, how are you?" added Arya.

Angela jumped and turned to look at Arya, "Arya! I wasn't expecting you. What do you want.?"

Unperturbed by her rudeness, Arya answered, "Solembum gave Eragon his message while we were talking. He said I could come as well."

"_Humph._ Well, anyway, Blockhead," she said, turning back to Eragon, "I called you because of _her_," Angela gestured to the black-haired something in the corner.

"Elva?" asked Eragon.

"Of course, Blockhead! She wants to see you."

Eragon shot her a bemused look, before wending his way through plants, cauldrons and other rather eccentric things.

Elva was lying in her small bed, curled up tight in the sheets. When Eragon knelt beside her she woke up.

Elva rubbed her eyes and sat up, the picture of childish slumber. When she saw Eragon, Elva broke into a happy ,young, smile and she cried out, "Eh-gon!"

Elva wriggled her way towards Eragon smiling and burbling happily, she flung her chubby arms round Eragon, gurgled in a pleased way.

Eragon was surprised, not just that a young child was hugging him passionately, but also surprised at how young she was. Now _his_ face broke into a smile, he had cured her properly!

Eragon hugged Elva back, and picked her up, like he used to do to the small ones in Carvahall, and turned round to look at Arya and Angela.

Arya's expression was unreadable, but Angela's face was one huge beam.

"Good!" she cried, " ever since we left Surda she's been asking for you, all the time! It has annoyed Solembum particularly."

Eragon smiled back, while Elva nuzzled her nose against his shoulder, then looked up at him. Her eyes were no longer piercing violet, but a clear lilac-blue. Elva wriggled herself in Eragon's arms, he shifted her a bit and jigged her up and down. She liked that, as she burbled and giggled even more.

"Well? Are you going yet?"

Angela broke in on his thoughts.

"What do you mean?

"Don't get me wrong, she's a lovely child, but Solembum and I need a good nights sleep, besides," Angela smiled, "you seem to be very attached to each other already."

"I-well- how long would you like me to have her for?"

Angela seemed to be relieved, "Oh, I'll meet you at the funeral tomorrow, alright?"

"Where will she sleep?"

"Wherever you do! You have a bed in that Dragonhold, don't you? Well then, she can sleep there!"

Eragon nodded, "Can I have some of her blankets? I only have one."

"Yes, yes, of course, but hurry up, I have some Scarlet Pimpernel to stew and store before the evening."

Eragon tried to put Elva down to pick up the blankets, but every time he did so, she started wailing. He looked over at Arya, who had still said nothing. "Arya, would you hold her? I need to get the blankets."

Arya still betrayed no emotion, but as she jiggled Elva on her lap (who miraculously stopped crying) she seemed uncomfortable.

Once Eragon had packed a bag with Elva's things, and Elva was back nestled in his arms,contentedly sucking her thumb, he called Saphira.

_Saphira?_

_Hello little one, is something wrong?_

_I-Well, we shall shave someone extra with us today and tomorrow._

_What! Who? _

Eragon chuckled, _you'll see when you get here._

_Huh. Where are you then?_

_Angela's floor._

Eragon could feel Saphira flying nearer and nearer, curiosity emanating strongly from her.

When she arrived, and saw the giggling bundle that was Elva, he large sapphire eyes grew large.

_Is that? I mean...What? _Was all she could manage.

Arya laughed, "Eragon, you seem to have surprised your Dragon."

Eragon laughed as well, _yes, Saphira, Elva will be joining us until after the funeral._

_What! But where will she sleep? What are you going to do with her?_

_I'm sure we'll think of something._

Sapphira was quiet for a little while, then she turned her to Elva and nudged her. Elva giggled and grabbed at Sapphira's nostrils, Sapphira grinned in a draconic way.

_We should have an interesting afternoon, little one._

_Yes, we should._

Eragon turned to ask Arya if she wanted a lift. She did. Once Arya was in place in the saddle, Eragon carefully climbed up with Elva in his arms.

_Fly gently Saphira._

_Don't I always?_

-

Back on the ground floor of Tronjheim, Eragon and Arya climbed down.

"What shall we do you with you then, Madam?" Eragon asked Elva playfully.

"Foog! Foog!" she gurgled.

Eragon laughed, and Arya followed him, even Sapphira grinned.

"Looks like the kitchens first then!" said Eragon, "are you coming, Arya?"

Arya's breath caught in her throat, she did want to, she really liked Elva, but to go with the man she had so firmly rejected...it...it just wasn't...Elva gurgled again, and it made Arya's mind up.

"Of course!"

Elva turned out to be a child with no large appetite, not surprising with the amount of food that she had eaten when she was still under Eragon's curse.

Elva daintily nibbled on an oatcake and surveyed the food on the table in front of her from Eragon's knee majestically, as if looking at her minions. Elva was apparently very taken with Saphira, and soon wanted to go back to her.

Eragon asked Sapphira to be at the bottom of Vol Turin, so that Arya and him could walk with Elva to Saphira.

Elva tottered along on clumsy little legs, talking nonsense words all the while. She grabbed Eragon's hand, then Arya's and leaned on them like handrails.

Eragon started swinging her, and Arya joined in, soon Elva was bouncing along on every other step, squealing as she flew through the air.

Arya was so happy! Elva was a delightful child. Arya was having a lot of fun, it felt nice and homely! She was happy, yet something was niggling at the back of he mind, something that made it feel wrong...

The three of them were already walking towards Saphira, when a shout behind rang out.

"Lady Arya!"

They turned, a panting young page was running towards them.

"Yes?" said Arya.

The page looked at Arya, then Eragon, then the bouncing pink-cheeked, giggling Elva. A blush rose on his face, and he started stuttering.

"The-er, the Lady Nas-Nasuada w-wishes to speak to you, m-my Lady."

Arya sighed inwardly, just as she was having fun with Eragon and Elva, she answered the page, "Alright. Where is she?"

"In-in her st-study, My L-Lady."

Thank-you, you may go, I know my way"

The page bowed and virtually fled. Aeya turned to Eragon, "I'm sorry, Eragon, I have to go."

He looked disappointed, "That's alright. I will see you tomorrow morning then?"

"Yes. Goodbye Eragon." Elva squealed in annoyance, "Oh, and goodbye Elva as well." Arya grinned at Eragon, "Mustn't forget that, must we?"

He grinned back, and the two mounted Saphira, Elva waving floppily from Eragon's strong arms . Arya waved back, and set off for Nasuada's study, with that small thing still niggling in the back of her mind.

Elva stared wide-eyed at the Dragonhold. Sapphira hovered outside their cave, so that they could c get straight in.

Elva tottered around the cave, while Eragon followed her round in case she fell, like an anxious mother hen. Eragon played pat-a-cake and peek-a-boo and tickling for at least another hour until, exhausted, Elva fell asleep against Saphira's side. Eragon smiled and gently covered Elva in a blanket, before settling down beside her. He started carving at a piece of wood, something he had done in Carvahall.

Finally Eragon lay down to sleep, Elva hugging on his arm like a teddy-bear. Saphira curled around them both, one small family.

Arya curled up in bed, thinking of her day. Elva had been fun and sweet, and Eragon too. She missed them. She thougyht of that page, why had he blushed like that? sloely the answer came to her, and it made her blush too. Tha page had thought that she and Eragon were a coyple, and that Elva was their daughter! No wonder he had been embarrassed!

Arya drifted off to sleep, curled up all alone, while in the Dragonhold above, Elva, Eragon and Saphira curled around each other, sleeping peacefully.

Silence reigned in Farthen Dur.

Reviews **please! thanx!**


	8. Dancing

Thanks so much reviewers! You are the best. Than you very very much. Thank you very very much thank-you very very...got it?

Chapter Eight.

Dancing.

Elva wriggled a little, squirming against the warm strong thing that held her. She opened her eyes and turned and looked at Eragon, he was still asleep. But, she, Elva was hungry, so he _had _to wake up! Elva poked his face. He grumbled and turned his face away a little.

Elva frowned. She poked at his face again. He still didn't wake up. Elva frowned thunderously, she was hungry! She gathered her lungs full of air, "EHHHH-GOOOONNN!"

That woke him up. He snapped his eyes open and sat up swiftly, eyes wide with alarm. Elva wriggled over to him, he smiled at her.

"I should have known. What's wrong Missis?"

"Foog."

"And that is what you saw fit to wake me for with that huge voice of yours?"

Elva stared at him, uncomprehending, "Foog. Wonk foog."

Eragon yawned, "Alright then, we'll go and get food soon. Sit still for a minute, I'll wake Saphira."

Eragon slapped Saphira's rump and she woke grudgingly,_ What do you want? I was having a good dream._

_Little Madam wants food._

Saphira laughed, _I did wonder why you were up so early, but I should have guessed._

_Mmm, shall we go then?_

_Yes, but be careful, the artificial floor isn't very strong. I don't want you falling through it._

Since the Star Rose had been shattered, the dwarves had put an artificial floor down, so that Eragon and Saphira could use it. Saphira didn't have much faith in it, so she landed as little as possible on it.

Eragon gently climbed up with Elva, the child's Dragonmark glowing in the dusky light. When they reached the bottom, Orik was waiting for them.

"Hello Eragon," he sounded subdued, "I was just making sure you knew that the funeral is going to be taking place in an hour, then we will have the crowning ceremony. Have you cast your vote?"

"Yes," Eragon had indeed entered the dark cave where the Grimstboriths of all the clans met. He had cast his vote and left, amid hostile looks from some dwarves.

Orik looked relieved, "Good, the procession will start at the gates of Tronjheim, then to the catacombs."

"Thank-you Orik."

The dwarf turned to Saphira, "Saphira, it is my duty to inform you that Isidar Mithrim is not quite ready to be mended, the last shards are being assembled now, though it will not be ready for another month or so."

_Ah, _said Saphira, _I did wonder why no one said anything._

Orik smiled embarrassedly, "They decided it was my job, anyway, they are...intimidated by you."

_And for good reason, _said Saphira, but she didn't put much venom in it.

"Foog! Eh-Gon, wonk foog." Elva made her presence known.

Orik's eyes widened, "Eragon, who is- what the? Eragon!" he finished lamely.

Eragon smiled, "This the Elva, Orik."

Orik's eyes widened even more, if that was possible, "Silver Brow...?"he questioned wonderingly.

Eragon nodded, "I healed her on the Burning Plains, didn't you know?"

"I-No, no one told me, I didn't ask."

Eragon shifted Elva into his other arm, "Angela needed a good night's sleep." he explained.

"Ah." Orik appeared uncomfortable, "Well, I'll see you at-at the funeral then." And he disappeared into Tronjheim.

Eragon made his way to the kitchens, thinking hard. Poor, poor, Orik. The funeral would be very hard on him, and then there was the fact that he might be crowned King straight after the funeral, though, in Eragon's opinion, Orik would be an excellent King. Ah, well, like Nasuada said, they'd just have to wait.

Eragon collected some food for Elva, and they sat down at a small table. Elva inspected the food, and reached for a bit of dripping. As soon as she managed to get a firm hold on it, she devoured it. Eragon quickly tied a dishcloth round her neck so she wouldn't drip her dripping down her dress.

Elva was just starting on a small honey-cake when Roran arrived.

"Good morning brother, having breakfast, are we?"

Eragon shot him a withering look, "No, this is Elva's breakfast, not mine."

Roran, for the first time, noticed Elva, "Is-is that the child that you healed in Angela's tent?"

"Yes."

"But why have you got her?"

"She was keeping Angela and Solembum awake all the time, asking for me, so I agreed to look after her for as while."

"Oh. When are we going to rescue Katrina?"

"As soon as the three days feasting finishes. If you're still sober, that is. Nasuada has already given me leave, and Arya will be coming with us."

Roran smiled brightly, "Excellent. What will we do once we have rescued her?"

"I don't know. If she is hurt , it may be best thing to fly straight to Surda. If she can hold out, or has injuries that do not require medicine we can fly back here. The Varden will not leave for another month. When they do, then you can leave with them."

"What about you? Where will you go after?"

"I will go back to the elves to finish my training."

Roran frowned,"How long have you been training for now?"

"I'm not sure, maybe..."

"Two months, two weeks and six days." Arya had arrived.

"Arya!" sputtered Roran, he still could not get used to Eragon and Arya being able to walk so silently.

She smiled, "Good morning Roran, Eragon."

Elva made a sudden grab for another honey-cake, Eragon had to grab her to stop her from falling face first into what was left of her dripping. Arya's smile widened, "And good morning to you too Elva."

Arya took a seat next to Elva. Elva, contented now that she had her succeeded in getting her intended honey-cake, leaned over to Arya and gurgled to be picked up.

"A-ya! A-ya!"

Arya smiled tenderly and picked Elva up and balanced her on her knee. Elva mumbled happily into her cake and Arya stared at the small black-haired girl sitting on her lap. Arya loved Elva so much! And Elva clearly liked her, and she adored Eragon, and she got on well with Roran, and she loved Saphira too. They were like a-a family. Saphira included. Arya realised that she wanted to be part of the family as well. But she couldn't-she couldn't! It wasn't right, she shouldn't!

Arya was in complete and utter turmoil. She didn't know what to do. What would Faolin say?!

Eragon and Roran were talking about sword fighting techniques and Arya was still struggling with herself, when a page ran up.

"Hello Jarsha, what brings you here?"

"The Lady...Nasuada," Jarsha stopped and panted for a second, "and Grimstborith Orik...requests the presence of Roran Stronghammer, Rider Eragon Shadeslayer and the Lady Arya at the gates of...T-Tronjheim for the f-funeral of King Hrothgar." Message over, Jarsha stood panting, waiting their reply.

"Thank-you Jarsha, we will be along shortly."

The page nodded and ran off.

"I didn't realise that was the time!" said Eragon, "I think I need to clean Elva up first though."

Elva did indeed need cleaning up. The honey had made her fingers sticky, and she had managed to get a bit of each type of food she had eaten on her face up to her nose.

"Here, let me," said Arya gently, " 'Liletta Moran'ranr'."

The food and dirt and on Elva quietly disappeared, leaving no trace behind.

"Thank-you Arya!" said Eragon, "Come on, we'd better go."

All four of them walked to the gates of Tronjheim. A large crowd was already assembled there. Nasuada and Orik were waiting for them. Nasuada raised her eyebrows when she saw Elva but didn't say anything because of the important moment.

After about five minutes waiting, during which Elva started to squirm, some drums started.

**BOOM**

**DOOM**

**BOOM **

**DOOM**

The massive gates of Tronjheim opened. The Kings Bodyguard walked through, heads held high, despite their tears. On their shoulders lay Hrothgar. He was laid out on a slab of red marble, his shield, helm and armour arranged on and beside him. The dwarves began to weep, the humans clenched their teeth.

Eragon held Elva,and she snuggled into him, as Eragon and the rest of the congregation followed the procession, memories came flooding back.

_Eragon knelt in front of the King._

"_Rise, Rider, you need not pay tribute to me._

_-_

_Vrael, leader of the riders, payed tribute to me in these very halls._

_-_

_The time of the riders has passed, Eragon,they will not rise again even if the other eggs were to hatch._

_-_

_The elves have changed you, Eragon._

_No Sir, it was the dragons._

_-_

_I, too, support Nasuada as leader of he Varden._

Eragon shook his head, shifted Elva on his lap, and followed the congregation to the catacombs.

The funeral was much like Ajihad's, all the Grimstboriths made speeches, and all important people saw him before the red marble slab was slid over his face for the last time.

Finally, Gannel performed the service, and all the dwarves, wishing to pay tribute to Hrothgar were allowed to enter. Eragon left quickly, sliding away so that only Arya noticed him go.

Eragon walked back through the catacombs, holding Elva tight. She had her chubby arms round his neck and she looked at all the tombs with wide eyes, not liking the cold, dry atmosphere around them. Eragon, with his elven hearing ,heard, light footsteps on the fine sand that covered the floor.

He swung round quickly, drawing his hunting knife, only to find Arya's beautiful green eyes looking at him.

"I am sorry Arya,I-"

"That is all right, Eragon."

She walked up next to them, and they continued through the catacombs. "Why did you leave?"

I just...I wanted to-to pay my respects on my own, not with all those people around."

Arya nodded, she understood. "Did-did you like Hrothgar?"

Eragon nodded heavily, "Yes. I will miss him, though not as much as Orik. I was going to tell him about my...change, after the battle. Until my...**brother** killed him."

Arya felt so sorry for him, her heart ached with his sorrow. She reached out her hand and slipped it into Eragon's. He jumped in surprise, but did not withdraw it.

"I'm sorry, Eragon." she whispered.

"It was not your fault." he whispered back, Eragon lifted his hand and sroked her cheek.

Arya felt a pricking behind her eyes, and looked away. He squeezed her hand, and she leant in towards him. Elva reached out and grabbed a bit of Arya's long hair and started to twirl it round her finger.

"She likes you," Eragon said ,still whispering for some reason.

Arya smiled and stroked Elva's cheek, "I like her too."

They had reached the end of the catacombs. Arya looked around, "What are you going to do now?"

"Wait here for everyone to come out, then we can go to the crowning ceremony together."

"Do you think Orik will win?" asked Arya.

"I hope so. It would be disaster for the Varden if Az Sweldn Rak Anhuin was elected."

Arya was about to reply when a rumble of voices came from the tunnel. The funeral was over.

"Eragon!" It was Nasuada, "we must go, the crowning ceremony is now!"

They arrived very soon, all around them, the dwarves were still sniffling and weeping. Eragon and Arya, with Elva, sat together on a front bench. Arya was still clutching Eragon's hand. Gannel got up, and walked to the podium and began to speak.

"We are here today, to elect a new ruler of the dwarven nation. The Grimstboriths have voted, and Rider Eragon Shadeslayer too. The votes have been counted, and we have the identity of the new King."

Gannel paused, "That King will be...Orik, of Durgrimst Ingietum!"

Most of the congregation burst into cheers, stamping of feet, and pounding of seats. They seemed to approve of the decision.

Orik had ascended to the podium and was now kneeling in front of Gannel. Gannel placed the dwarven crown on his head.

"Do all Knurla take Orik as their king?" shouted Gannel

"Yea." answered the congregation back to him.

"In living and in dying?"

"Yea."

"And will you, Orik, rule over these people, in war and in peace?"

"I will."

"And will you rule over them justly and fairly?"

"I Will."

"Then rise and accept your Kingship."

Orik did so. Gannel handed him Volund. Orik stood and addressed his people.

"I will rule as Hrothgar did before me, we will fight against the Black King, and we shall prevail! The five races of this earth will be united. Elves, Dwarves, Humans, Dragons and Urgals, we will,fight this war together!"

Another bout of cheering and stamping followed this, then Orik called for silence again.

"I wish for peace with the Urgals too, as does the Bolvek Tribe wish for peace with us. Therefore Nar Garzvhog and I are to sign a treaty. A treaty of peace!"

Nar Garzvhog emerged onto the podium. A scroll of vellum was produced and Orik read it out. It told of peace, and bonds and war ties. First Orik, then Garzvhog signed it with a crude X.

The room was silent for a while then the crowd broke into claps that got louder and louder.

Eventually it started emptying and everyone made their way to the feasting halls.

-

Two days and three hours later and the party was at it's rowdiest. Angela had arrived and taken Elva while she was sleeping, as Eragon would have to stay most of the time at the party.

Arya had disappeared, Roran was over by the mead and didn't seem about to leave there any time soon, and Saphira had already consumed a large amount of mead and was working on more. Eragon sighed, what was he supposed to do?

There were couples dancing now, Orik and Hvedra swung past, followed by Jormundr and his wife, it made Eragon feel lonely.

Another four hours later, and Eragon was bored out of his mind. Saphira was extremely inebriated, and wove a dangerous path through the revellers, who were used to her by now and skipped around her.

Arya made her way through all the partiers, trying to find Eragon. She finally spotted him, sitting in a chair, with his jaw clenched, hands clutching at his chair.

She approached him cautiously, "Eragon? Eragon?"

He swayed a little, she thought maybe he'd had to much to drink, but then he spoke, "Can't...close...mind."

"What?"

" 'Phira...won't...let...me...close...my...mind."

Arya was still confused, but just then Eragon clutched at his chair even more and swayed harder. "Oh! Arya, I'm sorry!"

"What was wrong?"

"Saphira is very drunk, and she wouldn't let me close my mind! She wanted to tell me some strange story about a half-Feldunost half-Nagra."

Eragon's face was so comical, the picture of disbelieving despair, that Arya burst out laughing.

"What's so funny?" He asked.

"Your face!"

"What?" he frowned.

Arya got herself under control, "Never mind Eragon. Do you- do you want to dance?"

"Of course , my Lady," he joked, "but I warn you, the only dancing I've is folk dancing at weddings."

"I'll have to teach you then, just don't step on my feet too much, Eragon."

He grinned, "I'll do my best."

Arya slowly showed him the basic moves, Eragon quickly got the hang of it, and they moved nearer the middle of the dance floor. Soon they were swinging all round the floor, faster than any of the humans and dwarves, though Eragon soon learnt to beware of the dwarves, they were so short that it was easy to bump right into them and trip over.He did in fact do that to Orik and Hvedra, though they were both quite tipsy and didn't seem to mind.

The incident sent Arya into more peals of laughter, at the sight of the Argetlam apologising profusely to a pair of tipsy, giggling dwarves trying to stay solemn.

Once Orik and his bride had gone, Eragon saw the funny side as well, and they both laughed as they danced.

Eragon was amazed, he was really having fun now, and Arya seemed to have loosened up more than he would ever have imagined.

Arya too, was enjoying the party far more than would have guessed, she didn't know what had come over her when she asked Eragon to dance. Arya smiled at what her mother would say if she could see her daughter now! Arya had never done this sort of thing even in Ellesmera, and to think that she was doing it in a feasting hall of the dwarves! It was unthinkable, but obviously not un-doable, because she was. Arya thought maybe that small cup of mead she'd had was affecting her. It may be, she had never really had intoxicating drinks before.

Finally she and Eragon stopped dancing, slightly dizzy. Once the affects of whirling around had stopped making her see double she turned to Eragon, who also looked like his world had finally stopped spinning, "Where is Saphira?"

"I'm not sure. I hope she hasn't gone to the rest of Tronjheim, she might hurt somebody."

Arya looked around, and saw a large blue bump lying on the ground, "There she is, Eragon! By the mead barrels!"

He smiled, "I should have guessed. Shall we go see if she is still conscious? I don't want open my mind in case she _is _conscious."

They went over to Saphira, she was certainly not conscious, though bouts of blue flame shot out of her nostrils every now and again. Eragon turned to Arya, "Well, she is fairly safe, the only danger is if she ignites someone."

Arya giggled, "They'll just have to beware then, but where's your cousin?"

"I don't know, last time I saw him he was over here."

"Is that him there? Lying against Saphira's leg?"

Eragon looked, "Oh yes, that's him. I think he should be safe there, as long as she doesn't move."

"I don't think she will, she's in a very heavy stupor. So is Roran, as a matter of fact, he must of drunk a lot."

"Yes, that is Saphira's influence I'm afraid, and I think he is missing Katrina too."

"He really loves her doesn't he?"

"Yes he does. I hope he is awake and sober when we leave to rescue her, or he won't be much use at all"

"Ask Angela for a potion or something."

"I hope I don't have to," frowned Eragon, "Anyway, he should be awake at least by tomorrow."

Arya's stomach grumbled, "Eragon, do you want to get some food? I'm really hungry."

"Me too, I haven't eaten for three days." laughed Eragon.

They made their way over to the food table, it was laden with fruit, pastries, mushrooms, meat, rich deserts and sauces.

Eragon and Arya made for the fruit and pastries, Arya watched Eragon choose his food in surprise, he wasn't choosing any meat.

"Eragon," she asked, "Why don't you eat any meat?"

He looked at her surprised, "I stopped eating it in Ellesmera, didn't you know?"

"No, I never thought to ask."

They fell into silence as they ate, Eragon was eating fast, Arya was taking her time, she had eaten fairly recently. When they had finished, they went and sat down near the side, watching the last few couples do their last dance. Finally most people had gone, and the only ones left were slumped all over the room, drunk.

"What are you going to do with Saphira?" asked Arya, once they had left the hall.

Eragon sighed, "I'll just have to leave her here, I hope she is up soon, flying tomorrow will not be much fun on a dragon with a hangover."

"Oh, that is not a nice thought." said Arya. Arya felt a little dizzy, it probably had something to do with the third cup of mead, she thought lazily.

Eragon walked her to her rooms, they were nearly there when a thought hit Arya, "Eragon, how will you get to the Dragonhold without Saphira? The pulley systems won't work at the moment."

"I hadn't thought of that," said Eragon, he thought for moment, "I suppose I could sleep in the old guard room that we slept in after Isidar Mithrim broke."

Arya frowned, "Is it usable?"

"I think so, if not I will sleep in Roran's chambers."

Arya nodded, although she was still not satisfied.

They arrived at her door. "Well...um, goodnight Eragon, I had fun."

He smiled, "I am glad, so did I."

Arya leant over and kissed him on the cheek, "Thank-you Eragon." She disappeared inside before he could say anything.

Eragon stood stock still outside her door, numb with surprise. Slowly he reached up and touched at the place where she had placed her lips. He shook his head and dazedly wound his way to the guardroom.

Arya hugged herself inside he rooms,what had possessed her to do that? It was stupid! But she did feel good.

Arya tumbled into bed, her head buzzing slightly, she was too tired to think to much. She'd worry in the morning.

Eragon wrapped himself in the few blankets that were in the cold guard-room, huddling closer to the warm, floatin light he'd conjoured, though the thought of Arya's kiss made him glow. Eragon shivered a bit and shifted to a different position. He was too tired, after three days of sitting in the feasting halls, watching the party, to bother about small details. The main thing was that she had kissed him!

Now Eragon was really confused, Arya had rejected him so firmly in Ellesmera, but now she was friendly, and had even kissed him! What was going on? Eragon shifted again and put all complicated thoughts out of his head, he would worry about them in the morning. The only thing that filled his thoughts was Arya, and he wasn't about to put _those_ out of his mind at all.

-------------

One of my cats was helping me type, he tried to sleep on the keyboard, but he heard his cat food tin opening!

Thanks for reading! (and reviewing, hint hint!)

dripping is bread soaked in milk.

Vellum is rich calfskin parchment, very thick and hard-wearing.


	9. Wisdom of the Serpent

Thank-you reviewers! You make my day!

I am going to have a few chapters called this sprinkled through the story. It will help things move along.

Eragon's fierceness is becos' I am lending some of my personality to him!LOL.

**Disclaimer:**It's all Christopher Paolini's and Random House.

Chapter Nine.

Wisdom of the Serpent.

Part One.

Eragon shoved the last small bag of dried fruit into the saddlebag, and clipped the flaps together. He was ready to go.

_Are you done Little One?_

_Yes. Arya said she would bring her own food._

_Are you taking meat for Roran?_

_I told him that I do not eat it, he may bring some, though he seems to excited at the thought of rescuing Katrina that he is useless when it comes to practical things._

Saphira laughed, smoke rising from her nostrils, _Yes, I did notice him trying to put his bow in his pack. He looked distracted._

Eragon smiled, _for good reason._

_Come, the sooner we go, the sooner we come back. _

_And the sooner we kill the Ra'zac, and avenge Garrow and Brom._

Saphira lifted a lip to growl,_ They will regret that. We shall see how loyal they are to the king when they are screaming in agonizing pain from my fire._

Eragon had not enjoyed killing all those humans at the Burning Plains, but the Ra'zac would be different. He would be having revenge long in coming. He would make them feel such pain as they had never imagined. Oh, they would pay.

When they reached the bottom of Tronjheim, Roran was waiting for them.

His hand was on the handle of his hammer, and he looked like he too, was having fierce and satisfying thoughts of the Ra'zac.

"Is Arya not here?"

Roran grinned, "No."

Eragon grinned back, "Are you looking forward to having revenge Roran?"

Roran lifted his head, "I will make them rue the day they set their filthy claws on our father."

_And we shall avenge Brom_. Put in Saphira.

Roran nodded and tightened his grip on his hammer, mouth in a grim line. "We will cause them pain."

"The Ra'zac?" Arya had arrived.

"Yes. Are you ready to go?"

Arya nodded, quelling the butterfly's in her stomach. She was nervous about fighting the Ra'zac, not to mention camping with Eragon for at least a week. She had been a fool, a silly air headed _fool. What _things Eragon must think. Oh what a fool! Arya had been mentally beating herself for doing it, what was wrong with her?

The four of them set out for the main entrance to the mountain. When they reached the doors leading to Kostha Merna there was a small group of dwarves to see them off.

Arya smiled as she felt the cold mountain air on her face. She didn't know how the dwarves survived for so long without natural things. She sneaked a look at Eragon, he looked as if he were enjoying being in the outdoors as much as she was.

Eragon tore his eyes away from the beautiful sight of the mountain lake and turned to Roran and Arya. "Shall we go?"

Roran nodded and climbed onto Saphira faster than she'd ever seen. Arya hesitated and pretended to be fiddling with her pack. When she looked up, Roran was sitting on the back of the saddle. Arya let no emotion cross her face, but inside she was relieved that she would be able to sit on the back of the saddle, behind Eragon. She swung up on to Saphira and settled at the back of the saddle. Eragon jumped easily up as well._ He has beautiful grace, _mused Arya, _he is as flexible as many ancient Elf-Lords._

Saphira took off, using a powerful updraft to take off. Very soon they were holding tight on to the saddle as the wind buffeted them in all directions. Finally Saphira rose above the choppy wind and there was relative silence. In the distance the mountains loomed, dark sentinels oblivious to time.

-

_Eragon, I must land. Flying against the wind has tired me,there is a sheltered glade we can camp in just over there._

_Good. Be swift._

Saphira angled into a steep dive and landed with a slight jolt outside the small dell. Arya, Roran and Eragon got off quickly, so that they could get under cover soon, to avoid detection.

Eragon started a fire, with a flint and tinder, which surprised her, he had magic, why did he notuse it?

As Roran set out his bedroll, and Eragon cut up vegetables for their broth, she sat down next to him.

He looked up, after a moment or two, and flashed her a quick smile, before returning to his vegetables.

"Why did you use your human contraption to light the fire?" she asked in genuine puzzlement.

"He looked up and smiled, "Ah, but Arya! It was you introduced me to Rhunon-Elda in Ellesmera. I remembered her words."

Arya blushed slightly, "I had forgotten."

He nodded as if it was to be expected, threw the carrot choppings into the pot. "Come, the food will take a while, sit round the fire with us."

Arya followed Eragon, who was carrying the pot, and they settled down around the fire. Eragon lifted the pot onto the hook above the fire and poured the water that had been boiling into it. "It will not be the most exciting meal, but it is better than nothing." He smiled, "As I quickly learnt while travelling with Brom."

"I still find hard to believe that Brom was so different from just our village storyteller." said Roran.

Eragon lifted the corners of his mouth slightly, "well, he was."

_And now we will avenge him,_growled Saphira. Her voice was full of angry, vicious venom.

Eragon's mouth curled ferally, "And then we will make them wish that the riders had eradicated their race long ago."

"They will not have forgotten my hammer." Roran grasped his hammer in anticipation.

Arya looked at them. They were not obviously related, but the expressions on their faces showed the resemblance. Grim warriors.

The broth had been eaten, Saphira had come back from hunting, and the fire was carefully shielded. Roran had gone to bed already, leaving Arya and Eragon by the fire.

Eragon didn't know what to say. They had not talked properly since the crowning party, though it had been only two days ago.

In his sleeping roll, Roran grunted, annoyed. He wasn't very tired, he had gone to bed so that Eragon and the elf would talk, but they weren't even making small talk! He would have to make them talk.

Roran reached out his mind like Eragon had taught him to do, and contacted Saphira.

_Saphira?_

_Yes, Nest-Friend?_

_Could you do something for me?_

_Perhaps. What is it?_

_Eragon and Elf aren't talking to each other. Can you make them somehow?_

Saphira grinned a draconic grin, _why you have the Wisdom of the Serpent, Roran. I would never have thought so. _

_Can you do something, Saphira? _

_I expect so. Let me think on it._

Saphira thought a little. Roran was a surprise, he had noticed that Eragon...liked Arya. What was she to do? Saphira thought a little more, then put her little plan into action.

Saphira yawned slightly and stretched her tail out, flicking it gently. Eragon looked up, eyeing it warily. He thought she was having a dream, and if Saphira had a very violent dream,she could end up disembowelling them. Arya, noticing his movement, looked up too. Saphira flicked her tail more and rolled onto her side slightly. Eragon looked even more wary and shifted a little, ready to push Arya out of the way if Saphira's 'dream' got any more violent.

Saphira smiled inside, here was her chance. Saphira thrashed tail around more, waving it around the fire towards the two. Eragon's eyes widened and he dived and pushed Arya out of the range of Saphira's tail. They landed to the left of the camp, Eragon on top of Arya.

Eragon got of her and sat down next to her. "I am sorry, Arya Svit-Kona! I didn't want Saphira to hurt you."

Arya blushed, and groaned inside, why did she always have to blush around him? It was contagious. "That is quite all right, Eragon,"she murmured.

He ducked his head for a second, then looked back up. "Do you think it is safe to go back to the fire now?" he asked with a sparkling grin.

She smiled back, "As long as Saphira doesn't start dreaming again."

He laughed, and went back to the fire. This time words fell from their lips easily, softly said, so as not to wake Roran or Saphira.

Finally they decided it was time to sleep. "Goodnight Eragon." Said Arya, as she slipped into her blankets.

"Goodnight Arya." answered Eragon, "I will take first watch."

She nodded and snuggled into the soft blankets, she fell asleep fairly quickly, in a peaceful mood because of her enjoyable conversation with Eragon.

In his bedroll on the other side of camp, Roran smiled contentedly, he had certainly managed to get them talking, with Saphira's help. Roran had been watching his cousin and the elf or a while. He noticed that they seemed to have a sort of _past_, thought neither of them mentioned it. Wisdom of the Serpent. He'd need a lot more than that to get the elf to admit any feelings she may have. But Roran was sure that she had some feelings for him, the way she seemed to blush quite a bit, though she was excellent at hiding what she truly felt. Roran was also positive that Eragon loved the elf. It was hard for him to conceal the look in his eyes when he saw her, though he did very well, but Roran was the only one who noticed. He had spent his whole life with Eragon, he knew him better than most people. Roran decided just to observe how things were with them for a while, before making his next move.

Saphira curled her neck protectively around Eragon, and he leant back against her neck. He had to stay awake , as he was on watch. Eragon felt happy at the thought of his conversation with Arya, but when he thought of when he landed on top of her, he cringed with embarrassment,_what_ she must of thought. The strange thing was that Eragon had noticed that Saphira's mind didn't seem like it was completely asleep. He would have to question her in the morning.

Saphira slept soundly, well pleased by her antics that evening. Roran had been clever, she wouldn't have thought it of him. It had got Arya and Eragon talking excellently though. Arya seemed to have loosened up a lot, Eragon had probably had a key part in that, he had behaved well with Arya, not letting his feelings show, or embarrassing her either. Today hadn't counted, they had embarrassed themselves.

Very soon, all four people were asleep, Elf, Human, Dragon and Rider. A little way to the north, the Ra'zac laid their plans. There was a surprise in store for the would-be rescuers.

-

Two days of the same type of travelling, making camp, eating, taking it in turns to make camp, Leona Lake came into view in the early evening.

Saphira was flying above the lowest layer of cloud to avoid detection, when Eragon contacted all three of them. _We can see Leona Lake. We will land somewhere safe soon. _

The others sent their agreements and Saphira landed on a thin path, covered in young birch saplings and wineberry bushes. To the left of the path a series of convoluted sandstone caves rose.

Eragon's mouth set in a thin line, and he started climbing immediately, leaving Arya and Roran to climb up behind him. When they reached a fair sized cave they went inside and checked it for any dangerous obstacles or animals. There were none. It was good cave to camp, and Saphira could fit inside it comfortably.

"When will we go for Katrina?" asked Roran, once they were all seated round the camp-fire.

"Tomorrow, at noon, when there will be most light. The Ra'zac hate the sun."

"Ah." Roran stared into the fire, his thoughts clearly on Katrina.

Arya looked at Eragon. He, too, stared into the fire, though by the expression on his face he was thinking angry, sad thoughts.

The sun went down, making the three companions gathered round the fire, shiver.

Eragon got up abruptly, and Saphira stood up stealthily. "We are going outside. We will not go far, and will be back soon."

"You cannot go outside!" Said Arya in the ancient language, "what if you are seen?"

"We will not be seen." answered Eragon in kind.

"You cannot go Eragon!" Cried Arya.

Roran was looking surprised and wary at the outburst in a strange tongue. He was looking curiously from Eragon to Arya.

Eragon could tell that she was slightly upset. He reached out a comforting hand, and touched hers. "I will be careful Arya Svit-Kona. Do not worry."

She shivered at his touch, and moved her hand to cover more of his.

" Be safe."

He nodded, "I will."

She moved her hand away and turned round and started to fiddle with her pack.

Saphira and Eragon walked put into the cold night. Heavy droplets of water started to fall heavily on them. Eragon walked down to the next strata of rock and entered a large cave that could hold at least a dragon, three people and two horses. Indeed Eragon knew that it had. It was the cave that he had met Murtagh in. It was the cave that Brom had died in,the cave in which the old Shurtugal had said his last words. Eragon walked to a ledge on which a few scraps of old greying linen lay. Eragon knelt down beside it, hand clutching the ring 'Arod', Brom's ring with the Yawe on it, that Queen Islanzadi had given to him.

He remembered Brom's last words vividly. How could he not? Brom dying had been the worst thing that had happened in his entire life.

_Speak these words only in great need._

_-_

_You do not know how terrible it is to look back and your life and see little, and to look forward and see the many years ahead._

_-_

_Guard her with your life, for without her your life is not worth living._

Eragon's eyes blurred with tears, silently they dripped down his face. The pain was nearly unbearable. Behind him Saphira lowered her head, infinite sadness emanating from her.

The Rider and Dragon stayed by the stone ledge for at least fifteen minutes, before Saphira nudged Eragon with her head and spoke to him.

_Let us go visit him Little One. _

He knew what she meant, so he followed her out of the cave. The rain was falling heavily and it mingled with his tears and ran down Saphira's scales miserably.

They made their way to the top of the formation of rock, keeping to the shadows around the light that sprang out of the cave that Arya and Roran were in.

When they neared the top, Eragon could see the knuckle of diamond rock rising up into the sky. On the top of sandstone caves was Brom's grave, just like Eragon left it. Eragon fell on his knees by the grave, staring hungrily at Brom's face, still perfectly preserved as if they old man were sleeping. Oblivious to the rain Eragon and Saphira stayed by the grave, water running on cold rivulets down his neck, and splashing on Saphira's hard scales. That was how Arya found them.

Arya had been wondering, rather worriedly, why Eragon and Saphira weren't back. She hadn't noticed how apparently obvious her anxiety had been. Roran had noticed and got tired of her jigging and fiddling.

"If you are so worried, then go and look for them!" said Roran slightly exasperated.

Arya blinked. No human had ever talked to her like that. "Very well." she said, not missing a beat. "Unsheathe your blade. You may need it Garrowsson."

Arya walked out into the rain. The large droplets bounced on her skin and soaked her by the time she had reached the next strata. Arya stretched out her mind and felt the Rider and Eragon at the very top of the formation. They didn't seem to be hurt or in danger, all the same Arya was careful.

Arya reached he level that they were on and saw therm straight away. Eragon was sitting, head bowed, water running down his neck and soaking into his already soaking clothes. Saphira too, was the picture of dejection and misery. The dragon looked up as Arya came up behind them, then turned back to face the thing they were sitting by. Arya gasped. A beautiful diamond tomb with a tall knuckled of diamond reaching to the stormy skies.

Arya walked hesitantly to Eragon's side. He did not look up. Arya looked down and felt her breath catch. Brom's face, serene and quiet, faced upwards towards them. Arya knelt down next to him. He still did not react. Arya looked at him at an angle so that she could see his down-turned face. Eragon's face was streaming with tears, they ran down his face and mingled with the rain. Her heart went out to him in his terrible sorrow, and before she knew what she was doing, she reached out to him and put her arm around him. He leaned into her touch and rested his head on her shoulder. She leaned her head onto his wet hair and his arm snaked round her waist.

Arya could feel sobs wracking his frame. She held him tighter and he too pulled her closer.

It could have been five minutes or five hours later ,when Saphira nudged them and said;_ Come Young Ones, we must go. Roran will be wondering where we are. _

Eragon nodded and with an effort stood up and wiped his face. Arya stood up as well. They did not say a word, but as they walked down,back to the cave, Arya slipped her hand into his. Eragon had stopped crying and held her hand tight. This time Arya leant into his touch. Shoulders touching, they walked back down to the cave.

Just before they entered the circle of light that emanated from the cave, Eragon drew her aside. Saphira went ahead into the cave.

"Arya, I want to thank you for-for being there." He sounded sad, and slightly despairing, showing the grief inside him.

She smiled, "That's all right Eragon. Why did you not tell us that Brom was buried here?"

He shrugged, "I did not think it was relevant."

"Relevant to what?"

"Well, it does not matter to Roran, and I didn't know how to tell you, I suppose."

Arya smiled faintly, "When Brom came to Ellesmera after the Fall, after my father was killed by the Forsworn, he taught me how to fight. As soon as I was old enough I wanted to leave, to go to the Varden. He was the one who told me about his mission to steal the eggs from Galbatorix. When he succeeded, he told me that a courier for the egg was needed, and a new ambassador too. The last one had been killed in skirmish with the Empire. When I left my home for the first time he travelled with me and my guards." Arya looked lost in memories. "So he was very important to me. We used to talk when he arrived at Farthen Dur, or when we met at home in Ellesmera."

"I-I never knew." Breathed Eragon.

Arya nodded sadly, "It did not seem relevant." she said, echoing his earlier words.

"I am sorry I did not tell you, Arya Svit-Kona."

"You were not to know."

"We are soaking." said Eragon with a slight smile.

Arya laughed, "And I didn't think to bring some spare clothes!"

Eragon smiled too, "Haven't you? You might catch a chill."

"I will be fine."

"I brought a spare shirt. You can wear it while yours dries, if you like."

Arya blushed, "I-well-you don't, um, have to, I mean..."

"I think you should. If we send you back to Ellesmera with bad chill, your mother will be out for my blood!"

Arya smiled sadly, "She isn't really that kind of mother, now I'm all grown-up. She used to feed off her own spoon when I was small. Before my father died."

Eragon tried to lighten the mood, "when I was small, I used to tell my Aunt Marian that I _really _didn't need help washing, but she insisted. Rather vigorously. With a lot of soap." He added ruefully.

It did lighten the mood, Arya laughed, it contrasted with the sound of the heavy rain. It lifted Eragon's mood as well.

"So, do you want to wear that shirt of mine?" asked Eragon, coming back to the subject.

Arya blushed again, "I-all right, are you sure you don't mind? You are wet as well."

"You are more important Arya." Came the courteous reply.

"I have told you before, I am not one of your helpless females!"

"I never suggested that you were." replied Eragon calmly. "I do not want you to be ill, that is my only reason."

"But you are wet as well!"

"Arya, what kind of a man would I be to first get myself, than you wet, and then put dry clothes on while you were still soaking and likely to get ill?"

Arya was slightly humbled, she nodded and did not argue any more.

"Come on." he said, and he grabbed her hand and they ducked into the cave.

As they stumbled, to stand blinking in the sudden light, dripping water in puddles, they forgot about their linked hands.

Roran, who had jumped to his feet in shock when they made their sudden entrance, was looking pointedly, eyebrows raised, at their linked hands. Eragon and Arya looked down simultaneously at their linked hands and quickly let go. Arya turned to her pack and started doing something with it, while Eragon turned slightly red under is cousins stare.

"What?!"

Roran smirked, shook his head and looked away.

Arya looked at Eragon, he was to busy looking daggers at his cousin to notice.

"Eragon?"

He looked over at her. "Yes?"

"Do you have?- I mean have you got?-"

Eragon saved her having to say it in front of Roran. "Oh, sorry, I forgot! Here."

He dug around in Saphira's saddlebags, leaning against the wall near Saphira. Eragon pulled out a white shirt and handed it to Arya. He tended to use it as a nightshirt, it was not much good as anything else. He had been wearing it in Tronjheim, it had been washed before he had packed it.

Arya turned to the wall to change. Eragon and Roran looked away and turned to the fire.

Arya soon came back, wearing his white shirt and holding her wet tunic over her arm.

"Here." Eragon motioned for her to give him the wet piece of clothing. She did and he laid it out on a rock by the fire. "Let's hope it doesn't catch fire!" he laughed.

Arya laughed too, and Roran had to smiled at their mirth.

Today, Arya was the first to go to sleep. She turned over in her bedroll, and watched the two cousins talk. They were apparently arguing, good-naturedly and quietly, so as not wake her, about something or other.

Arya's head snuggled further into the blanket she was using as a pillow. The shirt of Eragon's she was wearing smelt fresh and...manly. Arya liked it. She supposed it was Eragon's smell. Arya twisted the material between her fingers and she dropped off to sleep, fingers twirling her hair, the glow of firelight and the murmuring voices of Eragon and Roran in the background, making her feel safe and guarded.

Sitting around the fire, Roran teased Eragon about what he had been doing with Arya out in the rain. Exasperated, Eragon changed the subject to Katrina to try and get some peace. After that, all Roran would talk about was Katrina. Eragon finally retired to his bedroll, leaving Roran to do first watch.

As Eragon drifted to sleep, he watched Arya's sleeping face. He was extremely grateful to her for what she had done for him today, and felt like he knew her better after their conversation. Brom had meant a lot to her as well. Eragon watched Arya move slightly in her sleep. When he finally slept, his dreams were full of Brom's final moments, and the dream-Eragon would sob in pain, when suddenly a warm, comforting arm wrapped round his waist, and a beautiful face with deep green eyes lay on his shoulder.

_-_

_-_

Please drop in a review!

And thanks for reading! 


	10. Blood for Blood

Umm, this is quite gory, lot's of death decay and torture so...you have been warned.

Thank-you soooo much reviewers! You make me feel loved!

**Disclaimer:**It's all Christopher Paolini's and Random House.

Chapter Ten.

Blood for Blood.

Eragon tapped his fingers on the hilt of his word impatiently. Across the room from him, Roran too, was showing signs of impatience. Only Arya seemed completely unfazed. She calmly sat on her bedroll, an impassive look on her face, as if the thought of fighting the Ra'zac in little while was nothing to bother about.

They were waiting for the sun to reach the highest point in the sky, then they would set of to Helgrind. Finally it was time.

_It is a good time to go now. _Saphira told them,_ the Ra'zac will find it harder to fight in the daylight. Let us go._

Very soon everyone was seated on Saphira and she took of swiftly. As they flew smoothly away from the sandstone cave, Eragon looked back. Brom's tomb glinted in the winter light.

Little more than ten minutes later Helgrind was in view. Saphira landed softly and carefully half a mile away from the dark formation of rock. Arya and Eragon stealthily ran to it. Above, Saphira hovered above it. The plain rock door was guarded by only two soldiers bearing the Imperial crest, a red flame. They quickly took care of them, and entered.

Behind them Roran loosened his sword in it's sheath. Inside Helgrind it was at first just dark, even to Eragon and Arya's elven eyes. Slowly they adjusted to the darkness.

Below they're feet was uneven damp rock. Algae grew in a few stagnant puddles and faint drips could be heard falling from a stalactite's on the far off ceiling. A stale smell permeated the air. Along the far side of the great cavern was sweeping, slimy stair.

Eragon, Arya and Roran walked carefully up this, Eragon ahead as a scout. When they reached the top of the stair they emerged in a long, faintly lit corridor. Cells were studded along the walls. Eragon told the others the plan and he quietly jogged to the other end of the corridor. Arya stayed at the end while Roran checked all the cells.

The first one he looked in was empty, a small pool of slimy black water puddling on the uneven floor. The next one was empty as well, but for the small, fragile skeleton lying on the floor, empty eye sockets staring hopelessly into the darkness. Roran shivered and moved on. It was the third one where he got a real shock. The half eaten body of a fifty or so year old man lay on the floor. The face was bloodied and distorted, it was impossible to see his features at all except for a large, hooked nose. Roran felt very ill now and had to swallow a few times to stop the bile in his throat from rising any further. His slightly nauseous brain registered only one fact: The body must be Sloan. That meant that Katrina was near. Roran hurried to the next cell. This one was larger, and it took Roran a second or two to adjust to the darkness. The first thing he saw was a familiar glint of copper.

"Katrina?!" he rasped, stopping himself from being any louder just in time. The copper moved slightly but no noise came from her. Roran called along the corridor. "Eragon! Eragon, she's here."

Eragon's eyes glinted and he ran back to Roran. When Eragon saw her he looked slightly more satisfied and he muttered one word.

"Jierda." The lock broke with a snap and scatter of iron. Roran darted in, closely followed by Eragon. Katrina was slumped against the wall, hands held in black iron manacles. Eragon swiftly broke those and lifted Katrina up. She was light as a feather. The tatters of the white sleeping shift she had been wearing when she was captured hung off her in grey-black rags. Her ribs and pelvis stuck out from under her grubby skin. Eragon was going to turn round and carry her out when he heard Arya shout, "Eragon! They're here!"

Eragon didn't have to guess who 'they' were. "Hold Katrina. Try and get away somewhere safe. I will help Arya."

"I want to fight them Eragon!"

"I know, but you have an obligation to Katrina first."

Roran nodded and took Katrina from Eragon, "What shall I do with her?"

"Stay in this cell. If one enters, give it all you've got." Eragon left, drawing his sword.

Arya was locked in ferocious combat with a very tall, somewhat bulkier Ra'zac than Eragon remembered. As Eragon ran to help her, another one emerged from the other end of the dark corridor. Eragon sent a glance at Arya. Neither her nor the Ra'zac was gaining the upper hand, so Eragon made his way to the Ra'zac, this one was very tall, and it was thinner than the other one. It made a horrible hissing noise that could have been laughter.

As Eragon clashed blades with foul thing he was glad he had his elven ability. He had probably had no chance of defeating them in swordsmanship before.

"Sssso Rider, you are going to try and fffight me again are you?" It might have had a tone of derision in it's hiss.

"And I will kill you!" snarled Eragon.

"Sssss...you seek...revenge? Ahh, revenge for killing that old man...sssss...it was good riddance."

"You will pay!" Eragon twirled his blade faster than the Ra'zac had anticipated. The blow hit him on the place where a humans shin would be and was rewarded with a crunch of breaking bone. The Ra'zac howled and sank on one knee, blade clattering to the floor.

"Jierda Thierra Calfis." cried Eragon. The Ra'zac screeched in pain, it's foul mind reeling.

Eragon kicked the broken bone contemptuously, it howled louder. "I said I would have revenge. This is for Brom," Eragon drew his hunting knife and stabbed the Ra'zac in the side. It's screech intensified. "And the pain you caused him."

Next Eragon reached for the decorated flask at the creatures black belt. "And this is for Garrow." Eragon slowly tipped the sliver liquid onto the long curved beak. A smoking whole started to fizzle in it. The unearthly sound got louder, "For the suffering and slow death you caused him."

Eragon kicked the Ra'zac one more time, then leant over and picked up it's black sword and swung the decorated flask over his shoulder then ran up the passage to Arya. His heart nearly stopped. Arya was lying, slumped against the wall. Eragon ran quickly to her and dropped by her side. He felt for her mind, it was not unconscious completely. He reached out as hand to touch her face. Her eyes fluttered open at his touch. "Eragon!"

"Arya...What happened?"

"It threw some liquid at me. I-I don't know what it was."

"Where did it get you?"

Arya lifted her left hand. It was raw red and blistered. "Seithr oil. Hellfire! That'll take a while to heal." cursed Eragon.

Arya lifted herself off the ground. "I will be fine. The Ra'zac went after Roran, we have to get to them!"

Eragon sent her a searching look then turned to the Katrina's cell. As they neared the door, they heard a rattling gasping breath. Heart-in-mouth, Eragon entered the cell. Roran was standing over a writhing Ra'zac. He was holding his hammer and the Ra'zac's beak was dented and one of it's eyes was white and dripping fluids. Roran spared them a glance then lifted his hammer one more time. He brought it crashing down onto the Ra'zac's beetle-black head. It let out one bone-curdling wail and died.

Roran looked at them panting slightly, "We have to go. Those foul steeds must be around."

At that moment Saphira contacted him. _Eragon! There are four Lethrblaka!_

_Four? _Eragon worked it out swiftly,_They have laid a new pair of eggs!_

_You have to come to the top! You and Arya can use magic. They are surprisingly tolerant of fire, though I have scorched the younger one and killed a parent._

_We will be there right away._

"The Ra'zac have matured into Lethrblaka! Saphira is fighting them right now!"

All three of them, Roran carrying Katrina hurried along the corridor, lit by a floating blue flame and a glowing green one that Eragon and Arya had conjured. The corridor went upwards and emerged on the top of Helgrind. Saphira was furiously fighting the Lethrblaka, shooting fire at them whenever possible. The smallest one was indeed scorched, and it flew with it's wing curled slightly.

Eragon and Arya stared for a moment at the Lethrblaka. They had never seen them before, and were revolted by them and their foul stench that could be smelt on the air with their enhanced senses. The they snapped into action.

"Roran, hide Katrina round the corner and stay with her." cried Eragon.

Roran dragged Katrina round the corner, out of the way, and Arya and Eragon prepared to use magic.

"Malthinae!" shouted Eragon. A large ball of blue tainted air shot from him and hit the closest Lethrblaka. It got buffeted out of the way and Saphira took the opportunity to snap it's neck with her powerful jaws.

But it left Saphira vulnerable and another mount, enraged by the death of it's mate, flew straight for her.

"Brisingr!" shouted Arya. She had strung her sung-wood bow and had ignited the arrow as it flew. It hit true and pierced the creatures eye, penetrating it's brain. It fell shrieking to it's death. The youngest Lethrblaka looked loon in dismay and tried to flee. Saphira dived after it and engulfed it in fire. It fell in dusty ashes to the far-off ground. Saphira hovered for a minute then turned back to Helgrind. She landed heavily, showing her weariness.

_We did it Little Ones! We did it!_

Eragon smiled, _Are you very tired?_

_I can take you far enough._

Eragon frowned. "Arya and I can run below you. That way we will get along faster."

"You can't run!" Roran said, "You won't be able to keep up!"

"You'd be surprised." said Eragon.

"If you say so." said Roran doubtfully.

"Oh, we can. Right, we need to get Katrina somewhere we can heal her. I don't know what the Ra'zac have done to her."

Everyone snapped into action. Eragon and Roran secured Katrina to the saddle using the leather thongs, then Roran climbed up behind her.

"Are you sure you can keep up?" asked Roran worriedly.

"Yes Roran, now go."

Saphira launched of, gliding when ever she could on the updraughts.

"Shall we go then?"

Arya nodded. When they reached the body of the Ra'zac Eragon had killed, Aya looked at it impassively. "You really had your revenge, didn't you?"

"I made it feel their pain."

Arya looked at him sadly but said nothing.

Finally they reached the small door leading to outside and they passed through, grateful to see the daylight again. In the distance they heard a shout.

"OY!"

"Imperial soldiers. Let's go." said Arya tersely. As they left, they passed the body of one of the parent Lethrblaka's and Eragon stopped by the body for a moment. Arya couldn't see what he was doing, then he turned and the two set of running at speeds so fast that if a human saw then they were nothing more than a blur. If Eragon looked up, it was sometimes possible to see a large shape with outstretched wings, just above the clouds. Faster and faster the two elves went, jumping fences easily and swerving round objects effortlessly. A few hours later, Saphira contacted them.

_Eragon, we can camp in safety a little way ahead._ She sent him a mental image of the place.

_All right. We will follow you. _

Saphira landed in a clearing in the middle of a wood. It had a small brook and logs and places to shelter from the wind or rain. Roran was struggling to get Katrina from the saddle. Eragon ran up and helped. Roran looked at him in surprise. "So you did keep up."

Eragon nodded and lay Katrina down near the fire that Arya was lighting. Eragon sucked in his breath. Arya heard and looked up in consternation. Katrina's body was thin and emaciated, skin grey and bruised. Her hair was a mangled mess, though it retained it's copper colour. Eragon checked her over then announced; "She is severely emaciated but she doesn't appear to have been tortured. Arya, can you heat some water? I will wake her."

Eragon reached out his mind and touched hers. "Milnar." there was no reaction for a moment or two then she started to splutter, and her eyes fluttered open. The first thing she saw was a face with catlike brown eyes and fair skin . She tried to shriek, but all she could manage was a dry gurgle. The one with the catlike face said gently in a strange language, "Tawell, Katrina, dwi'n ffrind."

She didn't under stand what he had said but the words touched her mind as well, and she felt a little safer. Then another face came into view. "Ror-Roran?"

"Katrina!" Gasped Roran and he reached down and hugged her. She clung to him like her life depended on it. She couldn't believe she was with him again.

Eragon watched the two elder people meeting again, hugging and sobbing. Finally he had to separate them. "Roran? I'm sorry, but I need to heal her."

Roran nodded and sat near to her. Eragon asked gently, "Where does it hurt?"

Katrina's eyes opened wide in panic, "Who-who is this? Roran?"

Eragon looked at Roran sharply and said mentally, _Don't say. It's best if we tell her later._

Roran agreed and said gently, "he is a friend. He will heal you."

Katrina gave a faint noise of assent and Eragon started checking her for bruises. Every time he found one he healed it easily and Katrina was soon free of physical wounds. Arya came up with a bowl of warm water. "Here," she said softly, "You can wash in this."

Katrina's eyes widened again, but bent to weakly wash her face.

Roran pulled out a shirt and breeches and handed them to her. Eragon, Roran and Arya looked a way while she put them on. Finally Arya handed her some warm vegetable and rabbit stew. Katrina pulled the food towards her and started devouring it hungrily.

_Where did you get the meat? _Asked Eragon, surprised.

_Saphira leant me some of her kill. It was rather unpleasant. _She added disgustedly.

_Ah. where is Saphira? _

_She is on the far side of the trees, in another small clearing. She says she will not come just yet._

_Yes, Katrina may faint from horror._

_She thought so too._

Katrina had finished her soup. "Can I have some more?"

"I'm afraid not," said Eragon, Roran sent him a glare, "If you are severely hungry and have been relatively staved for a long while, a large amount of food will upset the balance of your stomach, and it won't be able to handle the sudden intake of food."

Katrina sighed and looked wistfully at the food in the small cauldron, then nodded.

"Good." said Eragon. "You can again eat soon."

"Eragon, do you want some food?" asked Arya.

Eragon walked to the fire, leaving Roran with Katrina. "Isn't there meat in it?"

"Yes. You'll have just have some dried fruit."

"Could be worse." said Eragon.

Arya nodded in agreement and asked in a low voice, "How is she?"

Eragon sighed, "Well, I have healed her wounds, and we will have to regulate her food, but she should be all right. However, who knows what horrors she had to endure in Helgrind?"

Arya nodded thoughtfully, "Was she the only prisoner?"

"The only live one."

Arya turned to the stew and stirred it. Eragon noticed that she was wincing and holding the spoon lightly.

"Arya! Your hand, I forgot! Let me see."

Arya showed Eragon her palm. It was red raw and clear pus dribbled in places. Eragon cursed violently under his breath. "Hellfire, but I forgot! There is no real cure for Seithr Oil, I will have to heal it in very small parts."

"Eragon, you don't have-"

"Yes, I do. You came with us, and I am at least responsible for looking out for you."

Arya was touched and she kept still as he inspected her hand. "Waise Heil." he said. A small part of the pus left. Eragon kept speaking the healing words over and over again until all that was left was the inflamed skin. Eragon looked at that carefully, then stood up and walked to his pack. He pulled out the white shirt that Arya had worn and he ripped a strip from the bottom. He dropped it into the pot of boiling water on the fire. A little while later he fished it out. He sat down opposite her again and gently wrapped it round her hand and tied it.

When he finished it, he looked up and they locked eyes. Arya felt caught and couldn't look away. Eragon smiled and dropped his gaze, a small flush rising on his cheeks.

"You are very good at healing." murmured Arya to him.

"Thank-you." he answered quietly. "I was taught well."

Arya smiled and was about to answer something when she caught sight of Katrina across the fire. Katrina was looking at them, a thoughtful look in her eyes. Arya was startled, what was she thinking? Roran walked to Katrina an sat down next to her. He slipped his arm round her waist and they kissed passionately. Arya felt herself colouring and looked away. Eragon followed her gaze then smiled a little and looked away to give them privacy. He noticed Arya's slightly flushed cheeks. He smiled inside but didn't change his expression. To cover the awkward moment he asked, "When do you think we should introduce Saphira?"

"Well-what does she say?"

"She say whenever we're ready."

"Ah."

"Perhaps when they," he jerked his head towards the other two, "Have finished."

Arya coloured again and mumbled assent. How could he be so...unfussed? And he was younger than her!

Roran and Katrina were sitting by the fire, arms about each other. "Do you want some more food Katrina?" asked Eragon.

She nodded and Arya handed her another bowl half filled with rabbit stew. Katrina met Arya's eyes again, and looked at her with something close to wonder, before dropping her gaze to the bowl in front of her.

_Eragon? When are you going to 'introduce' me?_

_I would like to do it as soon as possible, but it may be too soon for Katrina if we do it now. How about to morrow morning? _

_If I have to. But I would rather be there with you. This little clearing is not the comfiest place to spend the night._

_I'm sorry Saphira, I will come to visit you now._

_No, no Little One, I will be fine, it's best if you stay with Katrina, they might need you._

_All right. But I will miss you too. _

_I love you Little One._

_I love you too Saphira._

Saphira sent warm appreciation through their mental link and laid her head on the ground, while Eragon sighed and gazed into the fire. He felt much safer when Saphira was around.

"What does she say?" asked Arya.

"We think that it would be best if we do it tomorrow."

"So is she going to stay in that clearing?"

Eragon nodded gloomily, "Yes."

Arya made a little 'o' with her mouth and turned to her pack. "Here." She handed him something from her bag of food.

"What is it?" asked Eragon.

"It's an Elven waybread, we call it 'Havar' it keeps for a long time and is very nutritious. We used it when elves used to travel from one end of Alagaesia to the other."

Eragon tried the bread, it was dry and floaty, like savoury meringue. Arya smiled as eh saw that he liked it.

"Good?"

"Mmm, very, thank-you."

She laughed a little, "My mother used to make it with me sometimes. Then we use to eat it at meal-time. My father crunched it and make exaggerated noises of approval and I would giggle and..." Arya sighed wistfully.

"He was killed in the Fall?"

"Yes. I found out later from the few survivors what had happened. My father had been fighting Galbatorix and he seemed to be getting tired when he was stabbed from behind. I was too small to really know a lot bout what was happening. I knew there was a rebellion, and that the riders were being killed. My father was so sure they would defeat Galbatorix and the Forsworn. They said afterwards that was his undoing."

Eragon's heart clenched painfully at the mention of the Forsworn. " Who stabbed him?"

Arya didn't really want to say but- "It was Mor-Morzan."

Eragon looked down and clenched his round his sword pommel. "Morzan." he whispered.

Arya opened her mouth uncertainly, but Katrina suddenly said; "Who are you?"

Eragon shot his head up and Arya was startled. "Who?" asked Eragon.

"Both-both of you."

Eragon sighed and looked back down. He knew this would come, but he would have preferred to do it ion the morning. And who was he anyway? Not the same Eragon that had ran away from the Palancar Valley, or the same Eragon that had nearly started a bloodfeud with her father. He was Eragon Shadeslayer, Rider of Saphira, vassal of Lady Nasuada of the Varden, Vinr Alfakyn, Elf Friend, a Knurla of Durgrimst Ingietum, and he was the one gifted by the Dragons. But for all the different names and titles, he was still a son of Morzan. _Morzansson. _Urrgh! Eragon's curled with disgust. But Katrina needed an answer.

_Little One, just tell her your name first. She will cope. _

_All right. Thank you Saphira._

_You are welcome, Little One._

Eragon lifted his head and caught eyes with Arya. _What are you going to tell her? _She asked.

_Just my name._ He answered in dull tones.

Arya let her approval filter through the link, before severing the contact.

Eragon looked at Katrina. Her eyes were fixed hesitantly, but determinedly on him, with slight frown on her face too. Eragon looked down at the fire an back up again. "My name is...Eragon, Katrina."

She still didn't realise, and she looked confusedly at Roran. Roran tightened his arm round her waist and said gently, "My cousin."

Katrina's eyes widened, she gasped and looked at Eragon. "Eragon?" she breathed.

He nodded, and smiled slightly, though his face was still grim. "Hello Katrina. I darsay I look different."

"Yes-yes, you do, but how? You went with Brom and then the Ra'zac and father..." She trailed off.

Eragon sighed inside, this was not going to be enjoyable. "Remember that blue stone I tried to sell to your father?"

Katrina nodded, "I couldn't really forget. He was fuming for the rest of the day." she managed a weak smile.

"Well," went on Eragon heavily, "It was not a stone. It was a dragon egg." he didn't stop for Katrina's gasp and faintly said 'what?' "The egg hatched for me. I touched her and received the sign of the Dragon Riders, the Gedwey Ignesia." He showed her his palm.

"After the Ra'zac killed Garrow, we left to pursue them, and Brom offered his help. So all three of us left. We bought horses in Therinsford and tracked the Ra'zac. We followed them all over Alagaesia until we reached Dras Leona , where-" Eragon continued with a rough sketch of his story, making it as short as possible. Still, it made a very exciting tale, something, Eragon thought sourly, that you do not think of when it's actually happening.

When Eragon's story was done Katrina was quiet for a while. Then she asked, "Where is your dragon?"

"Her name is Saphira. She is in a clearing close by. We didn't want to shock you when you woke. Would you like to meet her?"

Katrina nodded faintly so Eragon asked Saphira to come.

Very soon they heard rustling in the undergrowth and a huge, sapphire blue dragon emerge into their copse. She settled down near Eragon and the other black-haired one and fixed her brilliant eyes on Katrina. All she could do was emit a faint squeak and stare.

Finally Saphira said, _It is a pleasure to meet you Katrina._

"You can talk?!"

_Of course! Did you think I was dumb as a rock lizard?_!

"I am sorry. I didn't realise dragon were so intelligent. I am only a poor village girl."

_You do not look so stupid to me. You should raise your opinion of yourself._

"Thank-thank you" gasped Katrina.

_You are welcome. I am Saphira, daughter of Vervada._

"I am truly honoured," said Katrina, "I never thought I would meet a dragon, nor one so mighty!"

Saphira gave what might haver been a smile laid her head on the ground. Katrina stared a little longer at her then turned to Roran, "So" she said planting a kiss on his lips, "What did _you_ do after I was captured?"

Roran began his tale and Eragon stopped paying a huge amount of attention. Arya was listening to the story as well, she had never really heard it completely first hand before. As Roran was telling her about the killing of the Twins, Arya turned to look at Eragon. He was dejected, his hand on the pommel of his sword face discomfited. "What is wrong?" she asked.

He sighed, "I-well, I suppose it's just, you know, having to recount all this again. It was bad enough when I had to tell Ajihad, and the Queen. But it's different telling Roran and Katrina because they mean most to me. They're my only family now. What they think matters more than what Islanzadi and the twenty-four elf-lord and ladies of Ellesmera do."

"I know." she said softly, "I know."

Eragon looked up at her. Different emotions were showing in her dark green eyes. She seemed to be far away in her thoughts, though her eyes held a soft portion to them as she met his gaze.

"Er-Eragon?" It was Katrina.

Eragon looked away from Arya and over to her. "Yes Katrina?"

"You have not introduced everyone." she said softly.

Arya smiled and Eragon hadn't quite realised what she meant until Arya said, "I am Arya Drottningu of Ellesmera. It is a pleasure to meet you."

Katrina looked at her, "It is a pleasure to meet you too. You are the one they rescued from Gil'ead, aren't you?"

"I am."

Katrina looked at her a little longer before turning her gaze elsewhere. Silence fell on the little camp.

_I think you should sleep. _Said Saphira, _You all have had a long and tiring day. I will keep first watch._

_That's not fair Saphira! You have done more than us,_ objected Eragon, _I will keep first watch._

_Thank-you Little _One.

"We should sleep," Eragon told the others, "We will have to travel fast tomorrow."

Roran and Katrina nodded and curled up in the blankets that Arya had given them and seemed to fall asleep quickly, not surprisingly, Katrina slept heavily, it was her first sleep in a safe place for a month at least. Roran, with his arm round her waist, slept well too. Only Arya took longer for her to fall into her trance-like state. Her hand didn't hurt, the linen stopped any more pus escaping, and the Havar had filled her up. It was Eragon's behaviour that worried her. He had seen so many horrors, withstood so many losses of family and friends, yet he still stood strong. It was when he was faced with this copper-haired prisoner that he became weak. True, he seemed to like Katrina, it was telling her his tale that made him unhappy. And then she had told him about Morzan killing her father. That had made him miserable too. She hadn't wanted to tell him, but she couldn't avoid it. Arya had felt so close to him then. It was a bit disconcerting.

Arya yawned and she snuggled into her bedroll. Saphira was right, they would have to travel fast tomorrow.

--

Katrina snuggled into Roran's arms and felt sleep just at the edges of her consciousness. She yawned and let it take her. She fell into the first sleep that hadn't been in dungeon owned by the Ra'zac for a month.

--

Murtagh swung his sword into the ground with an angry yell. His master would nor be pleased with this at all. The soldiers around him winced.

Murtagh was standing outside Helgrind by the body of one of the Lethrblaka. He had been flying for a long time to get here but Eragon had beaten him. Galbatorix had thought that they would try to rescue the girl and they had. But they weren't supposed to get away.

Murtagh looked at the body of the Lethrblaka again. Galbatorix would really not like this either. On the flank of the foul beast, there were words in the ancient language daubed in the creatures own blood;

_Blood For Blood. _

And underneath;

_My debt is paid._

_--_

**LOL ,hope you enjoyed!**

_Please review, as always!_


	11. Nightmares

This is just a short filler-chapter, I had to write it, I was going to skip to Tronjheim, but I decided I couldn't, so here it is!

Chapter Eleven.

Nightmares.

"No! Don't, please! Leave him! He didn't...didn't...want to...mother said I had to...care for him...PLEASE! STOP, _stop!" _Katrina's terrified, desperate voice rang out over the small camp.

Eragon eyes shot open and his hand reached for his knife, while Saphira's tail flicked and she lifted her head in alarm. Arya rolled straight out of her blankets and stood, poised, with her hand on her half-drawn sword.

They were all still for a moment, then Katrina called out again. "I hate you! I _hate _you! Leave...leave him alone! You promised! Promised him!"

Roran, who had been on watch, was already kneeling by her side. Eragon went to him and crouched beside Katrina, Arya close behind.

"She must be having a nightmare!" Cried Roran, and he reached out to wake her. "Katrina? Katrina! Wake up!" He shook her shoulder. Katrina moaned a little then her eyes fluttered open.

"Roran?"

"I'm here Katrina, don't worry, you're safe."

She twitched her lips in a small, weak smile and squeezed his hand.

"Katrina? Can you tell us what's wrong?" asked Eragon gently.

She looked at him, eyes wide, then looked away. She licked her lips and met his eyes again. "It...it was...just a nightmare. I'm fine now." She looked away again and laid her head on her rag-pillow, looking toward the fire.

Eragon looked at her moment longer, gaze piercing, then looked down. "If you say so."

Katrina nodded, "I do. Thank-you Eragon."

"That's all right, but are you sure you're fine?"

"I'm sure."

Eragon sighed a little, but didn't push it. "Roran, I'll take watch now, then you can stay with Katrina."

"Thanks Eragon," smiled Roran. He spread his bedroll out next to Katrina and started to make a small pillow out of a spare shirt. Eragon and Arya turned and went back to the fire. Eragon threw another log on and sat closer to the warmth. Arya made to go to her bed, but a sudden question struck her and she turned back to Eragon.

"Eragon?"

He looked up, "Yes?"

"I was thinking...didn't Roran say in Surda that Katrina _and _her father were captured?"

Eragon sighed. "Yes, he did. Didn't Roran tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"When Roran was checking the cells," explained Eragon in a flat voice, "he found what was left of an old man, and from what we can tell, it's very likely that it was Sloan."

"So her father's dead." Arya suddenly felt weary. This war had been going on nearly her whole life! When was it going to end? Because of one madman, the whole of Alagaesia was unstable and filled with war and death. Because if that one madman, this young woman's only relative had been killed. It disgusted her. "How are you going to tell her?"

Eragon shrugged. "I don't know. Once she is healthier, I suppose, but," he lowered his voice a bit, "I think that perhaps she already knows."

"How?"

"The nightmares. They did some terrible thing to her there, and she is reliving it in her sleep."

Arya shook her head, "Those in Ellesmera that have met them speak of them in fear. They are the most vile creatures ever to set foot in Alagaesia within recordable time."

"It is no wonder that the riders tried to eradicate them." said Eragon, "they deserve to be slowly roasted on a large fire, then drowned in Leona Lake. But I did my best." He added in satisfied voice.

"Yes, you certainly finished what the riders of old started." said Arya quietly.

They were silent for a long moment, then Eragon said; "Are you going back to Ellesmera?"

"Yes...I think I will, if Nasuada will let me. I am sure my mother wants me to, she didn't really want me to leave after the Agaeti Blodhren, so yes, I will."

Eragon nodded, "Saphira and I must return soon as well, we have sworn to return as soon as we can."

"She will want to know about the battle as well."

"I know," he said heavily, "and I will tell her."

There was another pause, then Arya said, "Do you miss Ellesmera?"

"Yes. It's the first place I've felt truly safe since I left Carvahall, despite the pain in my back from Durza's wound."

"The whole of Ellesmera was talking about the Gift of the Dragons, nothing like it has ever happened before." Arya smiled faintly, "My mother had to explain it to the heads of the Houses of Ellesmera, they wanted to know what was going on."

Eragon laughed, "You know when we all arrived in Ellesmera the first time, I was so awed! It beyond the reaches of my imagination. But when we entered Tialdari Hall and we found out about..._you_, it pushed all those thoughts right out of my head. I couldn't believe it."

Arya stared into the fire before replying, "That's why I told no one, they would have treated me differently, so I said nothing. I didn't tell Deynor, and when the leadership passed on to Ajihad he never thought I was more than I had always been."

"But Brom knew."

"Yes, he first met me when I was very young, four years or so, after his dragon was killed, and my father was killed. Once he had established the Varden he went Ellesmera more often, and that was how I became first the Elven Ambassador, then the egg-courier."

From the other side of the camp, Katrina moaned in her sleep. Arya looked over then back to Eragon. "Do you think she'll be all right now?"

"I hope so, they must have done something terrible to her there."

Arya nodded agreement. She looked up at the moon. It was nearly in the centre of the dark sky. "I should go to sleep Eragon."

"Of course."

"Wake me up when it's my watch."

"I will. Sleep well."

"You too."

Arya rolled herself in her blankets, and closed her eyes. As she fell asleep she saw Saphira move round the fire to Eragon and lie down behind him. He leant back against her belly, giving the impression of being asleep, but his were open in slits, and he was alert. Roran was asleep next Katrina,still holding her hand. Katrina herself was now sleeping peacefully, chest rising and falling evenly.

The moon was bright. Arya snuggled deeper into her blankets and slept peacefully.

------

Katrina whooped as Saphira performed a loop-the-loop before diving out of the cloud. Beneath them, Surda was spread out, dry and sandy, but the tilled fields seemed to be healthy enough. Two slim figures below were running smoothly, nearly keeping up with Saphira. Katrina marvelled at their speed, it was amazing. But Katrina was happy to be flying, it was lovely! It made her feel so free, so alive! She had asked Saphira how she could bear to land, and got the answer;

_Eragon asked me that on out first proper flight together, I answered him that I had to eat._

Katrina had laughed and they had lapsed into silence. Behind her, Roran wasn't enjoying flying nearly so much, he said he felt much safer with both feet firmly on the ground.

Katrina's attention wandered once more down to the running figures below. Eragon and Arya were running side-by-side, they hadn't slowed since they'd started after lunch, which they had had in shadow of a large rock, sticking impudently out of the rock. Saphira had informed her that they were in Surda, the rebel country that was housing the Varden, thought they weren't going there, first they were going to the dwarves capital city, a place called Tronjheim.

Soon Eragon called a halt and Saphira landed. Eragon and Arya were standing in a small wood that had large spaces in between the trees. Both of them were breathing heavily and sweat was running down their faces. It was the first time Katrina had seen them really tired. Eragon gestured to the wood and they entered. They set up camp just inside the borders and shielded the fire.

Eragon and Arya both pulled out dried fruit from their packs and devoured the strips hungrily.

"Hungry?" smirked Roran.

Eragon didn't bother to answer but sent him a mock-annoyed look. Arya didn't even open her eyes.

All four of them had eaten, and Saphira was no doubt terrifying the animal population of the wood so that _she _could eat. Arya leaning against a tree, her cheek pressed against the trunk. Eragon was sitting next her, their upper-arms nearly touching, his chin was in his hand and his eyes kept closing sleepily before he jerked awake again.

The moon had not risen very high before the two exhausted elves excused themselves and tumbled into bed.

Katrina didn't feel like going to bed so early, and she didn't want to experience the nightmares again. Roran didn't appear to be tired either, now he was on firm ground, he was cheerful again. She moved up to him and slid her arm round his waist. He smiled and pulled her close, before lowering his had and kissing her soundly.

"I love you, Roran," she gasped as soon as she got her breath back again. He grinned and captured her lips again.

"I love you too." his arms tightened round her waist and she hugged him closer, they kissed fiercer. She had missed him so much.

Arya, exhausted, but not quite ready to fall asleep just yet, happened to glance over at Roran and Katrina. They were kissing passionately. Arya gaped at them for a moment then looked away. Her eyes fell on Eragon. His hair was tousled and his lips were slightly parted. She just stared at him for a what seemed a long time. He moved a little and opened his eyes and met hers. He looked surprised and he blinked at her. She was taken aback and she dropped her gaze. When she looked back up he was watching the other two. He caught her eye and grinned, shaking his head slightly at them. Arya smiled back, mirth bubbling inside her, but she kept it down, it would be embarrassing for Katrina and Roran as well as for her and Eragon.

Eragon had snuggled back into his blankets, but he looked at her again, then contacted her in her mind.

_Are you all right?_

_Of course! Why shouldn't I be?_

_I was just asking!_

_Aren't you tired? _

_I'm exhausted, but my dear cousin woke me up._

Arya finally laughed, but only Eragon could hear her, _They woke me up too._

_I'm very glad they're together again, but if they do this every night, I might have to put my foot down. _

Someone else might have thought Eragon was serious, but Arya had known him a long time, she could tell he was joking. _I don't think Roran would thank you. _

_No, he certainly wouldn't. _Eragon sounded as if he was smiling.

_Goodnight Eragon. _

_Goodnight, they should stop soon anyway. _

Arya laughed and severed their contact. Roran and Katrina were now sitting with their arms about each other, Roran resting his chin on Katrina's head, Katrina with her head on his chest. Arya suppressed a sigh and turned over. This time sleep came swiftly.

------

Eragon gulped down the freezing cold mountain water thirstily. Arya and him had been running since the morning, and he was thirsty. Katrina and Roran were back in the stone hollow they had stopped in.

Arya was bending down at the small spring, cupping the water in her hands. Eragon bent down for more and they touched shoulders, Arya didn't even seem to notice, but it made Eragon's heart quicken. Pretending nothing had happened he lifted the water to his hands again and gulped it down in one go.

When they had finally drunk their fill,they rejoined the other two. They were eating the beef jerky that Roran had brought from the Varden. Katrina looked up and smiled, then got up to go the spring too, Roran went with her as well. Eragon dug into his pack and pulled out a small bag of nuts and raisins. He shook some out onto his palm and gave the rest to Arya. She smiled gratefully at him and quickly ate them. After that they had some bread, which was starting to go stale, and a few dried apricots each.

Very soon they were on the move again, going further into the Beor Mountains. By the time Eragon was starting to feel really tired, they had arrived at Kostha Merna. Saphira landed on the edge of the lake and Roran jumped off as soon as he could, while Katrina gracefully swung her leg out of the saddle and slid down Saphira's scaly side.

"What-" began Katrina, but Eragon held his finger to his lips and she quieted. Eragon walked along a small path round the lake and the others followed him. Suddenly Eragon disappeared behind the waterfall. Before Katrina could ask, Roran had pulled her through as well.

The were inside a small cave of rough stone. Near the side a round stone sat on ledge. Eragon lifted the stone and shouted some words in a strange language.

There was a heaving sound and two huge doors swung open to reveal a tunnel of amazing workmanship. A group of men and what Katrina supposed to be dwarves were waiting inside. They ushered the five inside and the door shut behind them.

"Follow us, Argetlam." Said a hairy soldier in chain mail. The greeting party set off into the dark. Eragon and Arya went straight after them. Katrina eyed the tunnel distrustfully. Roran saw and reached for her hand. She took it, and he squeezed it gently and they followed the others down into the mountain.

-----

It's just a filler, but I just managed to delete the 1/4 of chapter twelve that I'd already done, so it'll take a bit longer, but I had writers block for anyway, oh well! Please review! And I hope you enjoyed! It was my first real stab at romance for Roran and Katrina, so tell me what you think!

And I hope you all had a happy Christmas and Happy New Year!


	12. The Last of Her Race

Thank-you so much reviewers! You make my world spin! Please enjoy this, my sisters have fighting me and screaming in my ear about letting them on the computer!

Chapter Twelve.

The Last of Her Race.

Katrina stared in wonder at the white marble city in front of her. It was in the very centre of the mountain, which Eragon had told her was a volcanic crater, made before even the dwarves existed and the dragons were but colourless worms. It made Katrina's mind reel.

The delegation of dwarves and men carried on along the wide road towards the city, seemingly so used to the sight that they didn't even spare it a second glance. Katrina held on to Roran's hand and followed Arya, who was behind the dragon and Rider, her face emotionless, but never-the-less showing sighs of being deep in thought. Eragon and Saphira were right ahead, they, too, were deep in thought, but Katrina noticed that his face wasn't emotionless, it was just blank--completely blank.

Katrina had noticed that look a lot during their journey here. It was often hard to get him to notice them, but when he finally snapped out his strange trance, he looked very surprised to see Katrina or Roran waving their hands energetically in front of his face. He never gave an explanation of his strange behaviour, he didn't seem to find it unusual. Arya didn't either, she just carried on with whatever she was doing, and never joined in their waving. But Katrina had seen her face go blank sometimes as well; perhaps it was a thing all elves did.

Arya puzzled Katrina greatly; she regarded her and Roran strangely, but not discourteously. Her face was most often unemotional, bar when she was exhausted from running so fast for so long. She didn't really talk to anyone very much, but her and Eragon seemed to have a subtle connection, or maybe it was more of an agreement. In any case, she talked to him more than anyone else, and sometimes they even conversed in another language. The first time Katrina had heard them speaking in the strange, graceful tongue, her mouth seemed to go slack-jawed by it's own volition. To think that Eragon, little Eragon, brave hunter of the Spine, was speaking in another language! She wasn't aware that there_ were_ any other languages in Alagaesia, not that she'd ever thought about it.

Yet another strange thing about Arya was the fact that she didn't eat meat, nor did Eragon, any more. Katrina had thought this very wrong, and still had a nagging suspicion that it was her influence that had persuaded him to stop eating meat, good, healthy meat! That was another thing she would have to ask Eragon, once they got a peaceful chance to, away from all this abnormality. The problem was, that Eragon _was_ abnormality, in fact, he was a shining example of it.

But Roran, Roran was just the same as ever, but he was an amazing fighter, he wielded his hammer the same way Horst wielded his anvil, with amazing skill. He was also fierce, far fiercer than she would ever have imagined him to be capable of. The way he had fought the Ra'zac in Helgrind had shown the the experience he had gained from the siege of Carvahall.

Katrina had thought long about Carvahall. Her home as gone, and she would never have it back, thanks to the demon spawn that had destroyed her world, and her family. _Her family. _Katrina fought a wave of misery. Her 'father' had tried to strike a deal with the Ra'zac, to keep her safe. _Stupid, stupid man! _Couldn't he tell that there was no way of reasoning with the hellish creatures? And he had stabbed Byrd, Odele's Uncle, and betrayed the village. Katrina clenched her fist, willing herself not to cry, she _would not _cry for a traitor and murderer. Not now, not ever.

Beside her, Roran halted. Katrina looked up and saw that they were in front of a pair of huge, elegant, yet strong as stone, gates. She stared up at them wonderingly, them dropped her gaze down to eye-height again. Inside the gates, the faint figures of people could be made out, though all was silent. The gate swung open noiselessly, and the party stepped inside. Behind them, the gates closed again, with as little noise as a leaf falling from a tree.

Inside the gates, a group of people were waiting for them. A dark-skinned woman, with an almond shaped face and clever, quick eyes was at the front, standing next to a dwarf woman, wearing a ring with a pink-red gemstone set in intricately wrought silver on her finger. Her bright eyes, a deep brown, took in the party, noting the travel-stained clothes and their various signs of 'sleeping rough' for a while. Behind them, what looked like servants were standing in the shadows.

The dark-skinned woman stepped forward and hugged Eragon, "You're back! We were just starting to get worried!" She stood back and observed the rest of the group. She bowed her head to Saphira, who lowered her head and licked the woman's cheek. She smiled at Arya who guardedly returned it, then she turned to Roran and greeted him happily. She turned to Katrina. Eragon saw and hurried to introduce her.

"Katrina, this is Nasuada, leader of the Varden, Nasuada, this Katrina, Roran's bride-to-be."

Nasuada looked at Katrina, observing her to-big breeches and shirt of Roran's, her dirty face and her filthy, matted hair, and smiled widely and warmly, "It is a pleasure to meet you Katrina! Roran has talked of little else while he has been here."

Katrina lowered her eyes and bobbed a curtsy. Nasuada looked at her a little longer before looking at the dwarf-woman beside her.

The short woman cleared her throat and spoke to all of them in a formal voice. "The King sends his greetings, and his regrets that he is not able to welcome you to Tronjheim. He hopes that you have had a safe journey and that you completed your quest." Dropping her formal voice, she addressed Eragon. "What he means is, he's stuck in another pointless meeting with the Grimstboriths, especially The Tears of Anhuin, and says that he'll meet you all once he's got rid of them. He also says, he hopes you painfully murdered the Ra'zac and escaped unharmed."

"Thank-you Hvedra, we're all fine, but-" he broke off as Nasuada interrupted.

"Roran, could you spare Katrina? I'm sure she would like some new clothes and food." Nasuada asked Roran.

He nodded slightly reluctantly and let go of her hand. She reached up and kissed him on the cheek before following Nasuada down a tunnel leading off from the main hall.

"So, Katrina, how are you?"

"Much better than I was, thank-you my Lady."

Nasuada nodded thoughtfully, "So there were no problems at Helgrind then?"

"Well, the two young Ra'zac had grown-up, so there were four Lethrblaka to fight and the next generation of Ra'zac too."

Nasuada was horrorstruck, "Were they all right? I knew I should have sent soldiers with them!"

"They were all right, I think. Arya was burnt with that oil they have and Roran took a large bruise on his arm. But we were remarkably lucky, I think, but I was half delirious, so I don't know much. Eragon healed everyone afterwards anyway, we are all fine now, my Lady."

"Good." Nasuada seemed distracted, she shook her head slightly and continued. "Have you had enough food Katrina?"

"Oh yes, my Lady, Saphira caught me and Roran some rabbits every night, or brought back some of her kill for us, but-" Katrina hesitated

"But what?"asked Nasuada.

"Well..." said Katrina slowly, "Eragon doesn't eat meat any more and neither does Arya and I thought...maybe it was her, you know, _influence_ that made him give up meat." Katrina hesitated again, but it was so easy talking to Nasuada that she carried on. "Eragon was the best hunter in Carvahall, he would never give meat! And him and Arya act very strange, sort of like, like..." Katrina trailed of.

"Like they're allies, but not exactly friends?" asked Nasuada.

Katrina nodded, "Exactly."

"I've noticed that as well, it is very strange. They were in Ellesmera together for a long time you know, maybe something happened between them then. But it isn't for us to say. Eragon will tell you if he thinks you need to know. He's good that way. But here we are!"

Nasuada stopped outside a polished mahogany-wood door.

"Where? My Lady." She added quickly.

Nasuada smiled, "Please, call me Nasuada."

"Yes my Lay- Nasuada."

"We are at my chambers. I will have food brought up and..." Nasuada opened the door and beckoned Katrina inside, "I thought you might want a bath when you arrived." Nasuada opened another door from the small ante-chamber they were in to reveal a room that was emitting copious amounts of steam.

Nasuada went inside and Katrina followed. They wee in a middle-sized room of pink and white marble, with gold tracing the fine stone. Two roaring fires were burning at each end of the room and a large bath was two-thirds filled with hot water. A tan-skinned servant girl was standing by the fire, lifting a large pitcher of hot water of a hook in the fireplace. She poured the water into the bath, then turned round and jumped violently when she saw Katrina and Nasuada.

"Oh, my Lady, you scared me!" she exclaimed. Her eyes were a soft brown, and very expressive, and were framed by a few dark curls that had escaped her white cap. She had small nose, and a sweet lopsided mouth. Katrina liked her at once.

"Sorry Hepzibah," smiled Nasuada."Is the bath ready?"

Hepzibah nodded her head, curls bouncing, "That was the las' pitcher ma'am."

Her accent was slightly countrified, like Horsts', but the accent wasn't the sort from the Palancar Valley.

"Good. I'll get you some clothes, Katrina." Nasuada disappeared through a small door at the far end of the room that Katrina hadn't noticed before.

Katrina looked after Nasuada, and Hepzibah seemed to notice. "It is her dressin' room through there." she said nodding to the door, and glancing shyly at Katrina.

"A dressing room? Just for clothes?" asked Katrina curiously.

Hepzibah smiled a little self consciously. "She has an awful lot of clothes, ma'am, some of them're so complicated that I have to help her dress on court days, ma'am."

Katrina was surprised, and for the first time in her life, cursed her rural upbringing. They must think her such a rustic! "At-at home, I had one wooden wardrobe for my clothes. Father liked to give me nice dresses, he-" she broke off at the thought of her father.

"Where...where was home, ma'am?" asked Hepzibah tentatively.

"Carvahall, in the Palancar Valley." Katrina felt a twinge of sadness at the thought that her home didn't exist any more.

Hepzibah's expressive eyes lit up, "Palancar Valley? Where Ristvak'Baen is? Did you ever see it?!" Hepzibah seemed quite excited.

"Do you know it?" asked Katrina, taken aback at the enthusiasm of the girl.

"Oh yes! Orr-someone told me all about it. He told about the final battle with Vrael, and how Galbatorix defeated him, and it's names, the humans call it Utgard, and-" Hepzibah broke off, hands flying to her mouth, utter horror emanating from her. "I'm sorry ma'am! Clara told me not to chatter, and here I am, squawking like a chicken!" Hepzibah looked dismay and embarrassed, not to mention scared. "O-oh, she'll have my head for this, or at least have me spanked!"

"Well, what's wrong? You haven't done anything, as far as I know." said Katrina.

"It don't matter whether it's here or Surda, she's always houndin' us out, and tellin' us off." Hepzibah was quite worked up now, and she was twisting her white apron. "An' then we don't get food, an' if one of us sneaks somethin' to the one bein' punished, she has us _all_ punished," finished Hepzibah miserably.

Katrina opened her mouth to ask who and what was troubling the servant so, but Nasuada reappeared, holding a white something over her arm.

She smiled and held the nightgown up for Katrina's inspection. Katrina gasped. She had never seen such a beautiful dress. It would finish halfway down her calves when on her, and it's elbow-length sleeves were made of the same, soft, white wool as the rest of the dress. Dainty woollen lace edged the neck, hem and sleeves.

"It-it's beautiful! Is it for me?" she asked somewhat disbelievingly.

"All yours," beamed Nasuada. "You can put that on after your bath, then come through to the dressing room, Hepzibah and I will pick out some clothes for you."

Nasuada beckoned to Hepzibah and moved back to the door. Hepzibah looked back, smiled shyly at Katrina, then followed Nasuada through the door.

Katrina looked at the bath. It was deep and warm, with exotically scented things in the water. Katrina couldn't even fathom what they were though she recognized the smell of Rosemary and Thyme. Elaine made it a point in Carvahall to hang up Rosemary in every new house and farm stead put up, to ward the spirits of the unburied dead, she said. Apparently it was a family tradition.

Katrina quickly ripped off her old baggy shirt and jerkin, and stepped into it. She wasn't cold, so the water didn't make her itch, but it felt good to gradually watch the filth and grime of her imprisonment leave her body. Katrina sank lower into the bath and relished the warmth. At home, her father had always thought that heating water to wash yourself with was a terrible waste of fuel and time, and so Katrina's weekly wash had been to tip a bucket of water over herself in the small yard by the privy. Once every month or so, she would have a warm bath, in four inches of water, but it was enough.

And now she was in a deep hot bath, that had been prepared by a servant, in the greatest city of the dwarves. It made her mind reel slightly, so she pushed all intelligent and confusing thought out of her mind and relaxed out in the warm, soapy water.

--

Roran and Eragon stared after Katrina, Roran slightly longer than Eragon. Arya looked after her briefly then made her excuses and left, not looking back at any of them. Slightly surprised, Eragon turned his attention to Roran and Hvedra.

"Commander Stronghammer?" asked Hvedra slightly tentatively.

Roran looked around and down and when he finally located the dwarf-woman, asked "Yes?"

Hvedra looked him over, sizing him up. "You have got the same rooms as before, Stronghammer, your bride will no doubt have rooms near Nasuada's. We have a few spare rooms there."

Roran opened his mouth, looking puzzled, but obviously answered the unspoken question himself and nodded agreement to Hvedra. "I will go to my rooms now," he said, "When is Katrina likely to be done?"

"I do not know. Nasuada will give her food and clothes," Hvedra smiled, "and knowing human girls, it will take them a while."

Roran nodded again and set of for his rooms. Eragon was about to go back to Saphira, when Hvedra stopped him. "Eragon? Orik wishes you to know that he is deeply, deeply pleased that you are safe. He loves you like a brother, and, for a dwarf, is very close to Saphira Brightscales."

"Thank-you Hvedra," said Eragon, touched, "Orik means a lot to me as well."

"If you are thinking about your future sister, I can tell you that she is in good hands. Once our scouts informed Nasuada that there was one more traveling with you, a girl, she immediately began planning."

"Really?" said Eragon, surprised and happy. "That was nice of her."

"Oh yes, Nasuada has always been generous, I remember when she was a child-" Hvedra broke off and shook her head. "Eragon, you're letting me start, and if I start I never finish," Hvedra smiled, "so you should probably go and unpack now." Hvedra left abruptly, leaving a blinking Eragon behind her.

Saphira nudged him, _let's go, little one. _

Eragon climbed into her saddle and they were off. The Dragonhold was the same as ever, but far below them, they could the large red glow of Isidar Mithrim where it had fallen. It was held in iron bands, but was only half finished. Eragon climbed the metal ladder to Saphira's chosen cave and dropped his pack on his bed. _We should return to Ellesmera soon._

_I know. I hope that we can leave soon, it will be good to sleep in our tree-house again. _

_It will._

_And the queen must know of the battle properly as well. _

_Yes, _snorted Eragon, _while I tell her that my friend has betrayed us, become another version of his father, Morzan, and that we are brothers! And in front of the whole of Tialdari Hall as well. _

_Do not tell them then. _

_But...they need to know! _

_You don't have to tell them anything irrelevant._

_But it **is **relevant!_

_Not really. If you think about it, Murtagh's betrayal is what is relevant. You know that you are not Morzan, and so it does not matter. If your father had been Garrow it wouldn't have mattered to them, and so if you don't tell them, then they will not make it an issue. _

_You know that it matters, Saphira, why do you not want me to tell them?_

Saphira sighed and rested her head on the ground. _It would save you a lot of embarrassment. _

_My feelings do not matter! _He cried with sudden vim, _the elves should know! They have a right. Besides, I cannot keep this to myself, it may be important. It just seems wrong to keep such a horrible secret to myself. They deserve to know who-or **what- **_he added with bitter self-disgust, _they have within their borders._

Saphira's heart wrenched to hear her rider talking so._ At least wait until you have told Oromis and Glaedr. Please, Eragon! Listen to me. Tell Oromis first, then, if he thinks Islanzadi needs to know, you can tell her in a private audience. _

Eragon considered. It did make sense. _I will think about it. _He growled, talking about Murtagh and Morzan had out him in a foul mood, but he was instantly sorry._ I am sorry, Saphira, I am not angry with you. The thought of the way I was so blind to his betrayal still makes me angry. _

_That's quite all right Little One, _she murmured. _I understand._

_I am going to the bathing caves. Is that all right? _

_Of course. And I shall go in search of some food, or I will have to raid their larders._

Eragon laughed, appreciating her lightening of the mood and climbed back into the saddle.

Once at the bottom, Eragon and Saphira separated, she in search of some food, and he for the bathing caves.

--

Arya paced her room, hand clutching the pommel of her thin sword, and her green eyes clouded with thought, and by the look of them, not very pleasant thoughts either.

_I have been to...encouraging to him, I shouldn't have let him get so close to me._

_But isn't it more a case of me getting to close to him?_

_We are just friends! We work and fight together, that is all!_

_But you just said you were friends...isn't that close?_

_Friends in a professional way!_

_That's what you would like to think, but he doesn't, he knows that you and him are good friends, and he's right!_

_So what?! We are friends, yes, but it doesn't matter, we shouldn't get close!_

_Shouldn't or don't want to?_

_Neither!_

_Oh, so you can't? _

_No! I didn't say that! I don't want to risk him. People I am close to always leave me. _Arya admitted to herself reluctantly. _My father, Faolin, Niduen, and my mother banned me from her presence for seventy years! I don't want Eragon to be the same. _

_You know that he won't, _her other side told her, _he loves you, but, being Eragon, he behaves like a gentleman to you. No outsider would ever know that anything had happened between you both. He will not leave if it is within his power not to do so! Let him inside your barriers Arya, you need a friend that you know will always be there. _

_No, no, I won't! I don't want him hurt because of me, we will be allies, and I will behave well with him, but I will not soften towards him!_

The other part of herself that had been arguing was silent. Arya sat down on the bed, shaking slightly. She thought she had done the right thing. She _knew _she was doing the right thing. But for who? Arya's mind was confused, but through all the confusion, one thought stood. _Do not let him get close. You do want to loose him as well. _

Arya _knew _she had done the right thing.

--

Once Eragon had washed the grime of traveling from himself, he floated in the warm water in the dark cavern. His conversation with Saphira floated back to him, why was she so insistent that he not tell Islanzadi? He didn't want to, they would probably never think of him respectably ever again, it wasn't something that gained respect, being the son of the most evil of all the Forsworn. Nasuada and Arya. They were the only ones he knew wouldn't shrink away from him, or give him nasty looks.

But he had been such a fool! He should have realized how unlikely it was that Urgals should just _happen _to attack Ajihad's escort, just _happen _to know where they were, and the twins treachery should have been obvious to anyone who had cared to look closely. But the worst thing of all was that he just hadn't noticed! He had been stupid, a trusting fool, and completely blind.

_Blind..._

That rang a bell, where was it from? A distant memory stirred in his mind...

_Father and son, both alike, both as blind as bats._

Blagden! It had been Blagden that had said that! In Ellesmera, while he had been writing...but what did it mean? Father and son, Eragon and Morzan, that was clear, but what had Morzan been blind about?

Eragon pondered this a little longer, then stepped out of the water and dried and clothed himself. Once back outside in the tunnel, he reached out for Saphira.

_Saphira? Where are you?_

_Ah, hello Eragon, good timing! Nasuada wants to see you and Arya in her study. _

_Oh, all right...Saphira you sound very happy, has something happened?_

_No, nothing Little One...well, the chef was very generous...he gave me a nice tasty barrel of mead. Wasn't that nice of him? _

Eragon groaned inside. _It was very nice of him, Saphira. Are you with Nasuada now?_

_Yes, you'd better hurry, O My Rider. _

_Yes,yes, I'm hurrying, see you in a minute._ Eragon felt slightly worried, what did Nasuada want? And he hoped Saphira was sober enough to hold a sane council. Eragon hurried to Nasuada, hoping he would get there in time to speak to Saphira.

--

Katrina slipped the pretty nightgown on and ventured towards the door at the other end of the bath-room.

"Nasuada?" Katrina was in a smallish room, fitted with mahogany-wood wardrobes. Nasuada was standing in the door of an open cupboard, and the maid, Hepzibah, was carefully arranging some delicate piece of clothing.

"Hello! Are you done?" asked Nasuada

Katrina nodded. "It was lovely, thank-you."

Nasuada smiled, "good. Well, we have some clothes for you, so you should try them on now, I have a meeting with Eragon and Arya, and Roran and you need to be present."

"All right." Katrina looked about. There was a large couch with a variety of dresses, corsets, and shoes, spread all over it.

Hepzibah picked up a green muslin dress, it's sleeves and and hems embroidered in a grass-green. It was as beautiful as all the other dresses that were on the couch. After corsets had been tried and shoes were fitted, the dress was finally put on. It was too loose around her waist, showing the amount of weight she had lost during her imprisonment. Nasuada helped her take it off with a vaguely troubled expression.

The next dress was deep red, and it has so many petticoats, it was hard to find the middle of it. That didn't fit either.

Nasuada, after they had tried on three more dresses, went to the very smallest of her wardrobes and opened the door. Inside were yet more clothes, but Nasuada came out beaming. "These is a gown I wore to my first court sitting, with my father. I was only fifteen, and very tall and skinny for my age. Try it on."

Nasuada and Hepzibah wrestled it over her head and did up the hook-catches. It was russet brown and very well made. As it was made for a young Nasuada, it fitted thin Katrina very well.

Katrina looked at herself in a the mirror and felt happy with herself for the first time in a while. The dress stopped her looking so skinny and ill, and brought out her skin tone. Nasuada and Hepzibah stood back with satisfied expressions.

"Do you like it, Katrina?" asked Nasuada.

"I-well...words fail me, My Lay - Nasuada." said Katrina, unable to voice her thoughts.

Nasuada seemed to understand though, and smiled happily. Hepzibah was looking at the dress wistfully, but not enviously.

"Thank-you so much, Nasuada, and you, Hepzibah."

Hepzibah smiled rosily and smoothed her apron. Nasuada nodded approvingly, and dismissed Hepzibah.

"Thank-you, Hepzibah, you may leave. Tell Clara that I will need extra food from now on, and that my spare bedroom must be made up."

Hepzibah's tanned skin paled a little, but she nodded resolutely, and left with a bobbed curtsey to both women and left, closing the door neatly.

Nasuada, who was already in a green voile, strapped a worn leather dagger to her forearm, under her dress sleeve and smiled at Katrina's surprised face. "You never know when somebody might try to assassinate you."

"Oh."

"Quite. Shall we go then? When I spoke to Saphira she sounded a little down-hearted, I hope she's better now."

"You spoke to Saphira?" asked Katrina in surprise.

"Yes," answered Nasuada as they turned down a right-fork, "Trianna taught me how to use my mind to contact people, as there are so many I must talk to, I decided I needed to learn."

"That is how Eragon and Saphira talk, isn't it?"

"Yes, if you've ever seen his face go blank, it means they're communicating."

"Aaah, I did wonder, but Eragon seemed very tense around me, even though his face didn't show it, so I didn't ask."

"Tense?" asked Nasuada, surprised.

"Yes, he looked at me as if I was an unpredictable horse, or something."

Nasuada laughed out loud at her description. "Maybe he was just wondering how you would react to him, after all, he hasn't seen you for a long time."

"I was wondering if it was something to do with...Do you know who is father is?" asked Katrina tentatively.

Nasuada sobered immediately. "Has he told you already?"

"Yes."

"Ah. Well, his brother has become a traitor, and they used to be good friends you know, and then to be told by someone you knew and loved as a brother that you're father was the First and Last of the Forsworn, is something to be upset about. And you and Roran are his only family, he doesn't want you to think of him as the son of a murderer. He expects everyone to treat him like untrustable filth if they knew his heritage." finished Nasuada sadly.

"I would never think that about him!" said Katrina in shock, "Eragon and I have always been on good terms, and his fathers identity changes nothing!"

"Perhaps you should tell him that, then," Nasuada told her. "Here we are."

They entered the study to find, Roran, Arya and Saphira. Roran was inspecting his hammer, apparently looking for faults in the metal, and Arya was staring at Saphira, eyes slightly wider than normal. Saphira was humming happily and had her eyes closed.

They all looked round, Roran jumped up and went to Katrina's side, taking in her new dress. Arya nodded at Nasuada and Katrina, also noticing Katrina clean skin and relaxed posture, and Saphira stopped humming and lazily focused on Nasuada.

_He-lo Nasuada! How nice to see you today. I hope you are well? _

Nasuada was surprised at the way Saphira was gushing words in very uncharacteristic way. _I'm very well, Saphira, thank-you, and yourself?_

_I'm fine myself. I have told my rider that you have requested his presence. He was in the washing caves. He has informed me that he will join us shortly. _

Completely nonplussed, Nasuada looked at Arya., Arya looked back at her, seemingly as surprised as Nasuada.

_Saphira, what-_

Nasuada broke off as someone pounded on the door. Eragon rushed in as soon as Nasuada called 'Enter' and looked about wildly, until his eyes rested on Saphira, who was observing him through slitted eyes.

"I'm sorry Nasuada, Saphira told me that you had called a meeting," said Eragon quickly.

"I did, yes, but why are you in such a hurry?"

"I – well," Eragon looked liked he was resisting the urge to close his eyes in frustration, "Saphira has visited a chef generous with his mead."

Arya felt the terrible urge to laugh, but she kept her cool facade.

Nasuada, to, looked as if she was wanting to smile broadly, but she only said, "Ah, well, that explains it. Anyway, I have summoned you all here for a reason; The Varden will be moving back to Surda in a week, Roran's regiment awaits him, and I am sure that I can find a job for Katrina once we are there. Eragon, Saphira, you may return to Ellesmera as soon as you are ready, Arya will accompany you."

Eragon smiled, it would be good to back in Ellesmera again, and even the quite inebriated Saphira managed a particularly happy thrum. Arya's expression didn't change at all, and Katrina and Roran were talking quietly together.

Nasuada's face went blank for a while, and they all waited for what she would say; what she said was a lot different than they'd expected. "The elven mages have arrived. They are at the gates. Eragon, Arya, they will want to speak to you both, Katrina, Roran and I will follow."

They set off back down the tunnels, and halted at the gates. Twelve tall, hooded people were standing in a group, sword-sheaths visible underneath their robes, and elegant quivers hung on their backs.

Nasuada approached and one stepped forward, throwing back his hood to reveal piercing grey eyes, white-gold hair and a permanently furrowed brow.

"Greetings, Nasuada, leader of the Varden. I am Annatar, of the House of Igjarjkuk . We are from Islanzadi, Queen of the elves, she sends us to protect Rider Eragon Shadeslayer, and to do his bidding."

Nasuada lowered her head slightly in return and addressed the whole group. "Welcome, elves of Ellesmera. We thank you and Queen Islanzadi, and are happy to have you as part of the Varden. May I know all your names?"

A tall, thin, elf, also with gold hair, but her eyes were blue, and she had an array of daggers at her belt. "I am Larna, of House of Harmana. I am proud to serve the Varden."

Next a black haired elf stepped forward, he had eyes as dark as his hair, and he held a thick sword, by elven standards. "Senava, of the House of Ad'daru. It is good to fight with the Varden.

"I am An'ai, of the House of Palayar, I am honoured to fight and serve with the Varden." This elf had black hair too, and seemed younger than the others.

"I am Hanvana, of the House of Nar'yana. I will serve the Varden within all my abilities." This elf had pale hair, and his eyes were a deadly serious brown.

An elf with two swords and a long knife stepped forward. "I am Brynamor. I am of the House of Inimay'ar, and am honoured to serve with Eragon Shadeslayer and Lady Nasuada."

"I am known as Adurna, and will fight the enemies of the elves and Varden gladly." Adurna's name fitted her well, her eyes were ocean blue, and she seemed to be looking far away towards the sea permanently.

As the next elf stepped forward, her bow and quiver shivered. "My name is Evai'ana, I am from the House of Miolandra. To fight with the Varden is an honour, and to serve the Lady Nasuada." Evai'ana spoke earnestly, and seemed easy to trust.

"I am Minneyar, of the House of Pellipe. My skills are at your disposal." Minneyar was tall, and very muscly for a female elf. Her blonde hair hung over her amber eyes.

"I am Zanizar, of the House of Bantallar. I am honoured to help the Varden." Zanizar was slim, and a quiver of barbed arrows rested on his back.

A lithe elf, standing apparently very relaxed, now moved forward. "I am Tethar, from the House of Eminatra. I am privileged to fight with Eragon Shadeslayer and Lady Nasuada of the Varden."

Finally, an elf who had not worn a hood, but had been looking at Tronjheim in the greatest interest, bowed to Nasuada and Eragon. "I am Vanir, of the House of Vareletta. I am proud to be in Tronjheim, and to fight and work with the Varden. I am already acquainted with Eragon Shadeslayer," he said, a slight curl of the lips showing his amusement.

Eragon smiled back properly and Vanir lifted his hand to his lips and greeted Eragon in the Ancient Language.

Eragon returned the greeting, then spoke in the common tongue, "How is your arm, Vanir?"

Vanir seemed to smile back, though it was not exactly visible. "Alas! When I was told I was to represent my House, and serve you and Bjartskular, I had to heal it with magic."

Eragon laughed. "It is good to see you, Vanir!"

Nasuada, who had been watching this exchange with interest, had to interrupt. "You will all be wanting to talk with Eragon, I presume?"

"If it is convenient to you, Lady," answered Annatar.

"It is convenient. It is best if you don't use Eragon rooms, you wouldn't there before tomorrow," some of the elves had the grace to let slight confusion pass across their faces, "so you may use my study. Eragon will tell you of our plans."

"Very good, Lady Nasuada." said Annatar.

Nasuada, Roran and Katrina left, Arya followed after them, once she had greeted Annatar.

"This way," Eragon told them, and they entered Nasuada's study. Vanir seemed to find this room very interesting as well, though he didn't show it very much.

They all sat and Eragon explained their position. After telling them of bow-shortages and the current politics of the dwarves, Kull and humans, he told them that Arya and him would be returning to Ellesmera the day after next, or even tomorrow.

"If you will not be here, then what are we to do?" asked Evai'ana.

Eragon looked at them all carefully, then made a decision; "I have to return to Ellesmera as soon as possible, but you will all be far more useful here than in Ellesmera with me, and it would take to long to get there if we all went."

"But are you going to travel there by yourself?" asked Brynamor.

Saphira and I are more than a match for anything in Alagaesia, bar Galbatorix, and it is unlikely that he will be tailing us."

"Shadeslayer, we have been sent to protect you, you must have at least one of us with you!" argued Annatar.

Eragon sighed, "Arya Drottningu is coming with us."

Annatar bobbed his head, "Very well Shadeslayer. What would you have us do?"

"I would like three of you to stay with Nasuada, place wards around her, stay with her all the time. Another three must do the same with King Orrin. The others can work with Du Vrangr Gata, and the dwarven spellcasters to improve their skill," Eragon smiled, remembering his experience with them before the Battle of the Burning Plains. "It will not be easy, they will be so in awe of you that they will trip over themselves in their haste, but they should improve eventually, I have utter faith in you."

Annatar nodded in recognition of the compliment. They exchanged a few more pleasantries, and went their separate ways.

--

Eragon walked back to the centre of Tronjheim, thinking about Ellesmera. He had sworn in the ancient language that he would return as soon as possible, as Oromis and Glaedr were getting weaker. And Arya would be there as well... she seemed to have let down her guard and become more friendly as well. Eragons' thought were interrupted by the appearance of the elf in question.

"Hello Arya," he greeted her, stopping.

"Greetings Eragon," she replied curtly, also slowing.

"When will you be ready top depart for Ellesmera?" he asked.

"Very soon. I have little to pack. I will be ready by noon tomorrow." she said this in just as clipped tones as before.

"Oh-good. Saphira should be fine in an hour or so, she'll be fine to carry us tomorrow. I think," he added.

Arya asked in spite of herself."What was wrong with her today?"

Eragon sighed, looking suddenly very tired and old beyond his years. "It is a long story. _And not a happy one." _He added under his breath.

Arya's sharp ears caught the mutter, but she didn't comment. "I will see you tomorrow then. Good night."

"Sleep well," he murmured in response, and went on his way. He wanted to Elva, but Angela had taken her back to Surda, to 'keep her healthy' as she put it. She didn't think being underground all the time was the best way for a child only just released from a curse to be brought up. Surda, although dry, was at least outdoors, and Elva could be in the fresh air.

Eragon stopped on the first floor of Vol Turin, in one of the wide arches, and reached out to Saphira. _Saphira?_

_Yes Little One?_

_Can you come and get me? I'm on the first floor of Vol Turin._

_I come, s_he answered.

_Are feeling better? _He asked as she spiralled own from the lofty heights of the mountain.

_Much better, thank-you. _

_Where have you been? The elves have arrived._

_I took a flight outside the city, I felt a little...light headed._

_Ah. If you want to know, I have thought about what you said._

_Really? What did I say?_

Eragon sighed again, _About not telling Islanzadi of my...parent._

_Ah. That. And did you come to a conclusion?_

_No...Yes...I don't know...But you're right about telling Oromis first. I will do that._

Saphira seemed immensely relieved. _Good! I'm glad you listened to me._

_Of course I listened to you! You are the most important thing in my life, Saphira! And it was good advice, _he admitted, _it wasn't that I enjoyed the thought of proclaiming that my father was Morzan, First and Last of the Forsworn, in front of Tialdari Hall, I just felt it necessary._

_I know Little One, and you were right. But...I'm glad you agree with me. _

Saphira nuzzled him gently, before he climbed into her saddle. _But I still don't understand why you are so down on me telling them._

_Please trust me, Eragon. I have my reasons, but please do not ask me to tell you._

_All right, Saphira. _Eragon trusted Saphira completely, and believed her when she said she had her reasons. He cast about for another topic. _I met Arya just now._

_Oh?_

_She seemed like she was in a bad mood, and she was very curt._

_Perhaps she was just preoccupied. _

_Perhaps. But she was so open while we were travelling. _

_Perhaps that is why._

_Why what?_

_Why she was so curt. Perhaps she feels more carefree away from the people she has to work so closely with._

_Maybe. It seems very strange to me. _

_Let us add that to the large amount of other things that seem strange to you._

_Hey! _Eragon laughed and tapped her snout as he jumped out of her saddle, _I'm older than you! _

_In all but Wisdom. _Teased Saphira.

_Fair point, O My Dragon._

_So, we agree. _

_Mm-hm. _Eragon yawned and slipped his hunting knife under his mattress. _Goodnight Saphira. _

_Goodnight Little One. Sleep well. _

_And you._

Eragon fell asleep swiftly, into peaceful dreams. But Saphira stayed awake a while, pondering her conversation with Eragon. She did have her reasons, and she knew that her decision had been for the best. Eragon should _not_ tell Islanzadi, it was for the best.

But sometimes Saphira wished she wasn't one of the last of her race.

--

Hope you enjoyed! Please review and thank-you for reading! Finally back to Ellesmera in the next couple of chapters! Woot! It took forever to get through Tronjheim.

Everyone in this chapter has importance, even the OC's, so it's good for plot development. POV's will change as well, but not for long.

Anyway, please review! Thank you very much!


	13. To Ellesmera

Chapter Thirteen.

To Ellesmera. 

_Are you sure you have enough food, Eragon? You will need more than that on the way to Ellesmera. _

_I have enough for me and a little left over for Arya, she says she will bring her own. _

_Oh. Are you sure? _

_Yes,Saphira. _

_All right. Tell Arya that we are ready. _

Eragon reached out his mind and felt for Arya. She seemed to be somewhere on Vol Turin. When she felt his mind, she immediately started throwing up barriers and fortifying her mind. He continued to touch her mind, not leaving so that hopefully she would realise he was friend not foe. She didn't, though, and she suddenly sent a sharp dagger into his mind. He winced a little and, remembering the way she had attacked him in the Hardarac desert, dodged another dagger and quickly dove into the small gap in her defences that the dagger had left.

_**Arya! **_he cried.

_Eragon? _

_Yes! _

_I apologise. I did not realise it was you. You should not have tried to break into my mind. _She said stiffly.

_Then I apologise as well, Arya Svit-Kona. We are ready to go._

_I will be there. _She broke the contact and he returned to himself.

_She says she will be there. _

_Let us go, then, Little One. _

Eragon jumped onto her bent elbow, and then grabbed one of her ivory spikes and hauled himself into the saddle, something he had never had to do, as he was normally able to just jump straight into the saddle.

_You have grown._

_Have I? I wasn't completely sure, but Oromis' saddle is starting to get tight. _

_Ah. How much longer do you think it will fit you?_

_Long enough for us to get to Ellesmera and make a new one. _

_All right. I will feel bad getting rid of it. It is from the Riders of old._

_I know, I do not like it any more than you do, even though I will not be over fond of any saddle, but it will have to be done._

_Yes. _

Eragon jumped from Saphira straight onto the ground, something he could still do, despite her growth spurt. Arya was waiting, and Roran and Katrina were standing well back from Saphira's wings. Nasuada was standing nearby, absorbed in thought, her eyes focused on a tile in the intricate floor.

She looked up when he entered and smiled. "Hello Eragon. Are you ready to leave at last?"

Eragon grinned back, "I am."

"Good," said Arya, "shall we go, then?"

"Not yet!" Katrina said. Arya might have been surprised, but it was hard to tell. "You haven't said goodbye!"

Eragon smiled, though slightly guardedly, and answered her; "Goodbye, Katrina."

She gave him a slightly exasperated look. "That was not a proper goodbye! You would have hugged Horst and kissed Elaine, and said goodbye to the baby!" Katrina walked forward and hugged Eragon tightly, her pretty dress crinkling. He gingerly returned the gesture.

"Listen to me, Eragon," she said quietly, "Roran and me, we don't care who your father is. He could be Galbatorix himself for all we care. We will never turn away from you. You are family, and family look after each other,"she stood back and smiled at him. "We will always trust you, and Saphira. Remember that we are here, and that we support you."

"That's right." Roran had appeared, "We are your family, your flesh and blood, and we will stay with you as long as we are still breathing," he clapped Eragon on the shoulder and gave him a bear-hug. "Take of yourself, Brother. We will miss you."

Eragon was overcome. "I – I cannot tell you what this means to me." he stammered out, "I will miss you too."

Katrina laughed, and, seemingly unable to help herself, hugged him again."Take care of yourself, make sure you eat enough and stay safe!"

Eragon hugged her back, tightly this time, and smiled happily, "You are starting to sound like Elaine, Katrina! Tell me when the wedding is." He whispered in her ear.

She gaped, then giggled, and slapped him lightly on the arm, "We will do our best, but we do not have a dragon to transport us all over Alagaesia!"

"True," grinned Eragon, " goodbye, then!"

They smiled goodbye, and stood back to let Nasuada talk to him.

"Have you told the elves what you want them to do?" she asked.

Eragon nodded, "I have asked three to stay with you and Orrin at all times. They will place strong wards on you, and hopefully protect you from assassins. The others will teach Du Vrangr Gata and the dwarven spellcasters, so that they will be more efficient in fighting and healing."

"Thank-you. You take your oath very seriously."

"I would do this whether I was your vassal or not," said Eragon sincerely.

Nasuada smiled, "I know you would. Be careful, train well, and return to us when you can. I will miss you," she added.

"And I you."

Nasuada hugged him as tight as Katrina had done, and said in a low voice; "Did Katrina tell you something?"

He looked at her in surprise.

Nasuada smiled faintly, "She is a lovely person. Look out for them." And with that, she stepped back with Roran and Katrina, whose faces were blank; they were conversing with Saphira.

Arya looked at him expressionlessly, then turned back to Saphira's saddlebags, and started putting the last of her food away.

"Shall we go?" he asked.

She nodded, "I am ready."

"Good." Eragon grabbed the saddlebags and climbed onto her back, and, with the skill of much experience, started attaching the luggage to her saddle. He jumped down again. Arya had just said her formal goodbyes to the three humans.

They set off, walking along the road to the gates leading to Kostha Merna.

An hour or two later,they were standing on the bank of the mirror-still lake. Eragon looked around carefully, sending mental probes around the valley; there was nothing.

"You get on first," he said to Arya. She nodded and clambered into the front of the saddle. Eragon jumped up behind her and tied the thongs around her legs, and used the arm straps for him.

"Ready?" he asked Arya, smiling, and ready for the flight. It had been too long since he had been able to fly her without having to wait for people on the ground.

She nodded, unsmiling, and set her eyes ahead.

_Let's go Saphira! _he cried,and she launched herself form the ground with all the power she could muster. As the wind blew in his face, and the ground dropped rapidly away beneath them, Eragon felt the exhilaration that only flying could bring. Wordlessly, Saphira tugged at his mind and he let her pull him right out of his mind.

He saw mountain lakes, their blues more accentuated than when he looked through his own eyes, and enormous redwood trees seemed a small as thimbles, while rushing waterfalls were tiny brooks, their noise unheard in the thrill of the flight.

Eventually Saphira put himself back into his body, and he looked down to see Arya's silky hair below him. It surprised him so much, he let out an involuntary hiss of breath.

She looked up in surprise, and frowned when she saw him looking down at her.

"What's wrong, Eragon?"

"Oh! Nothing. I-well, long story."

"Tell me," she said slightly dangerously.

Eragon looked at her in confusion, what was wrong? "Saphira and I were flying-"

"So am I," she interrupted.

"It's thing that Shurtugal do; The Rider and dragon can merge minds, and fly as one. That is what we were doing, and when I returned to myself, I saw you and you surprised; I am still not used to flying with others."

"Ah."

And when I returned to awareness, I saw you, and you gave me a fright.

"I see."

"Are you hungry? We can eat while flying, if you like."

Arya looked into the distance as if she would be able to see the green fringes of Ellesmera on the horizon. "Yes. I want to reach Ellesmera as soon as possible, I have a feeling my mother will want to see you."

Eragon heard the way she spoke of her mother, as a queenly mother, rather than a mother-queen. It seemed incredibly sad to Eragon. He had never known his mother, but he loved his Aunt Marian as one. "I think she will want to see you far more, Arya."

Arya smiled slightly. "Perhaps. But she needs to know the news from the Varden."

Eragon's hand clenched around the pommel of his sword. "Of course she does," he growled to himself.

Instantly, Arya remembered about Murtagh and Morzan, and felt like a fool. To cover the moment, she asked; "Where is the food?"

Eragon nodded to a saddlebag and released the pommel of his sword. "I have some dried fruit and bread. Here," he slipped his leg out of the thongs and Saphira slowed down until she was gliding. Eragon swung his leg over her side and and lowered himself so that he could open the saddlebag.

When he got back into the saddle and replaced the thongs, he turned to hand them to Arya. She was looking at him, seeming alarmed.

"Thank-you," she murmured and turned to face forward again. Eragon ate the food quickly and took to observing the ground below, not that there was much to see. The land was getting less sandy, and the air temperature was noticeably more wintry.

Arya was obviously thinking of something, so he didn't disturb her. He also turned to look ahead. On the far horizon, visible through his elven eyes, were the fringes of the Silverwood forest, where Orik and him had camped on their journey to the Burning Plains. The sun was slowly setting, and Saphira told him she would stop in the forest.

--

Eragon threw the few dry logs he could find down near the fire, and fed the rest of the one currently burning into the fire. Arya was trying not to slurp a bowl of vegetables and a tiny amount of fruit. It was a concoction that he had discovered while hunting in the Spine, after a bold chipmunk had stolen all his meat.

Eragon leant back against a tree, and laid his ear on it's trunk. He could hear the sap moving slowly through the tree, and small grubs that resided in a rotting hole in the side. Eragon felt himself relaxing, and yanked his eyes open to keep himself alert.

"Go to sleep, Eragon, I will keep watch." Arya had finished her soup and was looking at him over the fire. He didn't have the energy to argue.

"Thank-you, Arya." he said no more, but his tone of voice told all.

"Wiol ono." she said quietly, so quietly that Eragon was unsure he had heard it.

Eragon spread his bedroll and arranged a few rags for a pillow. "Goodnight," he said to her.

"Goodnight, Eragon," she replied, in a softer tone than he heard her speak since returning to Tronjheim.

He grunted and sleep took him swiftly.

--

Three days later, after monotonous days of travelling, the green fringe of Du Weldenvarden came into view. Eragon felt hid heart lift at the sight, distant as it was, though Saphira would cover the distance swiftly. Arya too, seemed happy, but he could only tell that by the the stiffening of her back when she saw it; her face was as unreadable as ever.

The forest drew nearer and they dismounted at the same meadow as the dwarves and him had done on his first arrival at Ellesmera. Arya called the welcoming words in the ancient language and the elves appeared from the trees. Eragon only recognized Nari.

"Atra esterni ono thelduin."

The exchanged greetings, and then entered the forest. As it was only morning, they travelled straight away. The elves, also, seemed to want to get to Ellesmera as soon as possible. Arya walked as swiftly as she could, and Eragon walked at the back of the party; he wanted to think.

--

The night before they reached Silthrim, Arya sat across the fire from him, with a purposeful look on her face.

"Eragon, we are close to Silthrim now."

"I know."

"Normally, we would go through the city to make the journey longer, but there is a festival in the town, and you would be expected to join in, as the Riders of old did."

"So we will bypass Silthrim?"

"Yes."

Eragon was silent for a while,then nodded his assent. "What festival is it?"

"Marshelgr. It is the equivalent of Dagshelgr."

Eragon shot is head up and looked her in the eye sharply, "Dagshelgr? We must go as soon as possible."

"Why?"

"Saphira." Eragon's heart felt heavy. "The celebrations make her remember that she has nearly no chance to find a mate."

"Oh, Eragon, I forgot!" Arya said, apparently dismayed and upset, "I will ask Nari if we can travel any faster." She got up and brushed the leaves from her tunic and left to the other campfire, where their elven guides were sitting.

She came back in a short while and sat down again. "Nari and Lilana say that we can take the river Elion, and so be far away enough from the city that the spell will not be as strong as it would if we take the canoes down through Lake Ardwen."

"Won't that take longer to get to Ellesmera?" asked Eragon.

"Hardly. River Elion is very fast, and we will likely be the only people on it, whereas the Gaena is shallow and slow, with all the traffic going to and from Silthrim on the water."

Eragon smiled in gratitude. "Thank-you Arya. It means a lot to me."

"You are welcome, Eragon. It hurts me to see Saphira sad as well."

He dipped hid head in recognition of the words, and thanked her again. After she had gone to find her bedroll, Eragon reached out for Saphira.

_Saphira?_

_Hello, Eragon._

_Where are you?_

She sent him a mental image of her position; it was a small glade, and Saphira was sitting in the middle of it, nibbling daintily of what was left of her catch.

_Did you eat well?_

_Very well, thank you._

_We are going to take a different route to Ellesmera._

_Oh? Why is that?_

_There is festival in Silthrim and they would expect us to join in._

_I see. Will it take longer to get to Ellesmera then?_

_No, the River Elion is faster than the Gaena._

_Good. _Saphira finished her meal, and stretched here wings to take off, _I come , Little One. _

_See you soon._

Saphira sent an affirmative and took off from the glade; she would be back shortly.

--

May uncountable days later, they were in Ellesmera; The guardian of the city, Gilderien the Wise, had let them enter, but his eyes had been solemn, as if he knew what would happen in Tialdari Hall in a short while.

Ellesmera was the same as always, the same houses, the gentle, beautiful inhabitants, and the peaceful magic that permeated the city had not changed. The elves, however, were showing signs of readying for war; more of them wore swords and daggers, and it seemed that some warriors had been sent to the outlying villages, like Osilon, and the trading outpost of Ceris.

When they came to Tialdari Hall, Arya stopped, while the guards informed the queen and got her consent for them to enter.

Though Eragon had grown used to the majesty of the elves, Tialdari Hall never failed to amaze him, and today was no exception. He looked up at the roof, seeing the evening star, Alambil, glittering above.

Queen Islanzadi stood in front of the throne, her crimson tunic a splash of colour among the brown of the roots. A slim jewelled sword lay elegantly on her waist, and Blagden was sitting on his perch by her hand.

Nari and Lilana had left to find reinforcements for Ceris, and talk to the leader of the guard, so Arya led their company. She knelt, bowing her head, and Eragon did the same. Saphira towered above them, paying homage to none.

"Rise, daughter, you need not pay tribute to me in these halls. And you, Rider." she said, her voice rich and powerful.

Eragon rose, and beside him, Arya did too, and her mother immediately engulfed her in a loving embrace.

"Atra esterni ono thelduin." Eragon greeted her when they had finished.

"Mor'ranr lifa unin hjarta onr." she replied.

"Un du evarinya ono varda." he finished. The queen turned to Arya and they performed the ritual again.

"Please, tell me the news from the Varden." The queen sat on her throne, and faced them inquiringly.

Arya looked at him uneasily, and started to tell Tialdari Hall about the Varden's current situation. She talked of politics, supplies and money. "The Varden are no more needing in money or food; it is weapons they need," she concluded, "Nasuada's idea with the lace was an excellent solution to the problem. However, they cannot buy weapons, and the smiths of Surda and the Varden are mainly just Blacksmiths, though they are all being trained in the art of making weapons."

"Thank-you, Arya. You have brought good tidings. But what of the battle?"

Arya glanced at Eragon again, showing apprehension and indecision in her eyes. He quickly touched her mind. _I will tell of the battle._

_Are you sure?_

_Yes. It is my job to do so._

Eragon looked at Saphira, and she looked back. He thought of her words in Farthen Dur, and made his decision.

"Mother, Eragon is going to tell of the battle." Arya told the waiting Queen.

She looked startled, then turned her gaze on Eragon.

"Very well. What have you to say, Eragon?"

"Orik and I arrived at Borromeo Castle in three days of continuous flying, and we were directed to the Burning Plains by King Orrin's seneschal Dahwar, where we-" Eragon continued to talk, Saphira filling in where his memory failed him.

A long while later, Eragon was describing the end of the battle. "We were halfway down the field, and two of Nar Garzvhogs Kull were down , and three of Orik's kinsmen, when we heard drums." Eragon paused, gathering his thoughts; Islanzadi seemed taught as a bowstring. "Something rose out of the smoke, and I saw it was a red dragon," he said in an emotionless voice. The elf-Lords and Ladies gasped and gripped their weapons.

"Saphira and I knew that we had to fight him, and we flew at him straight away. We fought for near on an hour, barely gaining an advantage; The red dragon is smaller than Saphira, but he is powerful, and the Rider has some unnatural strength. He used magic tirelessly, even spells that would have had an elf gasping for breath. He has some dark powers, taught to him by Galbatorix himself." Eragon finished for a second, glancing round the room. All the twenty-four elves were white and tense, minds working furiously.

Islanzadi, however was expressionless, if a bit pale herself. "Did you find his identity, Eragon?" she asked in a surprisingly gentle voice.

Eragon took a deep breath and continued, "Eventually I told Saphira to land, that I would fight him on foot." The elves seemed to get even more tense. "We fought for even longer. He is not as fast as me, but his technical skill is excellent. I was weary from long battle, and could not gain the upperhand. We had been duelling for an uncertain amount of time, and I slowly realised that had duelled him before." At this, an elf let out a gasp of amazement.

"That I had duelled him over a campfire, as friends, before sleeping." Eragon felt terrible.

Islanzadi's eyes widened. "What are you saying, Eragon?"

"I jumped at him and tore off his helmet. It was Murtagh, son of Morzan, the Last and Worse of the Forsworn." Eragon closed his eyes and looked up at the sky. Alambil was still bright, but other stars had now joined the evening sky. He felt oddly comforted. The elven congregation was in shock. Arya's head was bowed. Eventually Islanzadi broke the silence.

"The one who saved you and Brom from the Ra'zac?"

"And rescued Arya." Islanzadi recoiled.

"I am so sorry, Eragon. You have my condolences for the loss of a friend." She said in a low, gentle voice.

"Thank-you, your Majesty."

She looked back at the silent congregation. "It is late. We will talk of this new...development tomorrow, but first, I have an announcement." The elves still said nothing. "A dear one, of my house, has returned. We are all glad to welcome Niduen back to Ellesmera."

Arya's head jerked up. From the shadows behind the throne, a slim figure emerged. "_Niduen..._" Eragon heard Arya whisper.

The elf stood by Islanzadi in front of the throne. She had long, dark brown hair, so dark it was almost black, and bright blue eyes. Her chin was slightly pointed, and the tunic she wore was deep, velvet blue. Her blue eyes sparkled slightly, but her face was emotionless, though a curve of her lips showed that she was smiling.

"Niduen! What are you doing here?" Arya's voice surprised Eragon. She was looking at Niduen on disbelief. "What about your parents?!"

Niduen smiled mysteriously. "My father decided it was safer in Ellesmera than Kirtan."

Arya looked as if she wanted to argue, but refrained from in front of Tialdari Hall, or perhaps it was the warning look that her mother shot her.

"We all wish Niduen well, and are happy to have her back. We will make introductions tomorrow," she said hastily, as she saw Niduen looking at Eragon and Saphira. Niduen looked at the queen, bowed to the hall, and left through a side door.

"You may leave, Eragon, your tree is prepared for you. Oromis asks that you be at the Crags of Telnaer tomorrow morning, at the normal time."

"Thank-you, your majesty," he bowed. "It is good to be in Ellesmera again."

She smiled, and he left. Saphira stared at the elves a little longer, then followed Eragon.

_Are you all right, Little One?_

_I'm all right. It was painful to relive those memories, though._

_Oh, Little One. Put the thoughts out of your mind._

_I will. _

_You didn't tell them about Morzan. _

_I decided you were right, and it was hard enough to tell them about Murtagh anyway. I was so stupid! _He burst out suddenly, _I was completely taken in by the twins deception. I was blind!_

Saphira sighed, S_o was everyone else at the Varden._

_That does not excuse me._

_But no one blames you, Eragon. Imagine how Nasuada feels. They killed her father._

_You are right, Saphira. I am being silly._

_It is a natural reaction, Eragon.. _

_I know, thank you, Saphira._

_You are welcome, Little One._

They had arrived at his tree-house, and Eragon slipped of her back, and she flew off to the tear-drop portal that was made for the dragon to enter. Eragon toiled up the stairs, not exerting much energy on them. He was far away, visiting memories of Carvahall and travelling with Brom and Murtagh.

When he reached the top, and had climbed through the trapdoor, he stood in the entrance to his home, and looked around. The shards of glass that had lain on floor from the scrying-mirror he had broken in shock, were gone. Saphira's cushion had been washed and some new ones had been added, and extra blankets were folded on his bed. There was fresh fruit in a bowl on the table, and the cupboards were well stocked.

Eragon's face split into broad smile; It was good to be home. Saphira was perched on the edge of the portal, and she seemed very happy too.

_Isn't it good to be back? _She said, voicing Eragon's thoughts.

_Like coming home after a hard hunt in the Spine. _He replied.

_Exactly._

He smiled. Saphira's hunting could hardly be described as hard; everything in the Empire was easy prey for her, it was no wonder she wanted to hunt in the Beors.

Eragon left his battered pack into a corner of the unused Dining room, and opened the laundry cupboard, observing that new clothes, and even more blankets, lined the sung-wood shelves. Still smiling, he looked into his bedroom and saw everything like he had left it, but cleaner. Oromis' time-piece stood next to his bed, the whetstone that he had managed to keep ever since he'd left Palancar Valley lay on the small table by his bed, and the tiny grate he'd only used once, when the first frost of the winter came, was sparkling clean.

_I've never had someone clean my house before, _he observed.

_Of course not! But you probably will for the rest of your life now. Nasuada will probably give you an army of maids specially for your rooms, and she'll have smiths to hone your blade and-_

_Saphira, _Eragon said, _if Nasuada did that, you'd have to kidnap me. Saphira_ sent amusement through their link, _And besides, why would I need a smith to hone **this **blade?! _He held the human made broadsword out in front of him. _It is exactly the same as all the others in the Varden's armoury. _

_You have a point Little One, perhaps you can get an elven sword here. _

Eragon found a white tattered shirt, and flung it on as a nightshirt, taking off his sword belt and leaving it by his bed. _Maybe. They must have some sort of armoury, but I will not make it a point. It isn't that important. _

_If you wish, Eragon. _

Eragon, tired of eating broth and dried fruit, devoured a fresh apple, and some orange fruit that was unidentifiable, before retiring to his bedroom.

He wound Oromis' time-piece up, knowing that he would hate the thing when it woke up before the sun in the morning, he stowed his hunting knife under his mattress and lay back against the down-pillows.

_Good night, Saphira._

_Sleep well, Little One. _

Dragon and rider slept peacefully throughout the night.

--

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz-zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Eragon bolted upright, alarmed at the strange sound, before remembering it was the time-piece. Scowling at it, he swung himself out of bed, instead of falling bake into the pillows, as he would have liked to do, and made his way to the wash-room.

Once respectably clean and shaven again, he dressed in the elven clothes, and belted on his sword, still slightly uncomfortable with the heavy clumsiness of it, compared to the careful balance of Zar'oc .

Saphira opened a lazy blue eye and flicked her tongue. _Are you ready to go now?_

_Yes, yes, let's go. _

Saphira launched herself out of the portal enthusiastically. They were both eager to see Oromis and Glaedr again. The white Crags of Telnaer came into view. A huge golden dragon lay, claws facing the ravine, with a white clad figure sitting on his large front claw.

Saphira landed, flourishing her wings, and growling a greeting to Glaedr. Oromis turned serenely to Eragon, who was undoing the thongs on his leg. Eragon jumped down, and bowed to his masters.

"Atra esterni ono theldiun."

""Mor'ranr lifa unin hjarta onr."

"Un du evarinya ono varda." finished Eragon.

"It is good to see you again, Eragon. We expected you back later than this."

"It is good to see you as well, Masters."

Oromis smiled, "How are you?"

"I am-I am fine, master. How are you?" asked Eragon concernedly, knowing his master's illness.

"I have been getting weaker, Eragon, I will not conceal it from you." Oromis squinted into the winter sun, and turned back to Eragon. "Come, let us go into my house, it is warmer there."

Eragon followed the frail elf into the hut, and they sat at the table, almost as if nothing had changed; that he had not gone away to war.

"So, Eragon, tell me about the battle. I was not able to scry you, and so you must inform me of the events."

Eragon sighed and looked down at table, then began. Outside, Saphira was talking seriously and fast to Glaedr.

Eragon was talking of Elva, and how he had met her, when Oromis held up a hand. "Wait a minute, Eragon. Glaedr is telling me something important."

Eragon stopped, surprised, and waited for his master to finish. Oromis opened his eyes, looking at Eragon sharply; he wondered what Glaedr had told him. Something important by the way the elf looked surprised. A good half hour later, Oromis told him to continue. "Please continue, Eragon. I apologise for the interruption."

Eragon continued, and when he told Oromis of Murtagh, the elf's eyes widened and he gripped tightly at his table, "Ah, Eragon, dark times! So Galbatorix has managed to resurrect the Forsworn! We hoped for years that he would not find a rider of the remaining eggs, and now he has!"

"Yes, master." Eragon could summon the energy to say much more.

"I am sorry for your loss, Eragon. I know how it is to lose a friend to Galbatorix."

"Thank-you, master."

Oromis nodded, and Eragon continued, "He used a spell to incapacitate me, holding me in the air, and then - then he...told me something." Eragon stopped and drew a breath. "He unbuckled Zar'oc's sheath, and took the sword from me. He said, 'It is my right. Besides, Morzan's sword should go to the oldest, not the youngest.' He told me that my father was Morzan, and that his mother was Selena. My mother. He said that the Galbatorix was very interested in that particular piece of news when he heard it from the Twins." Eragon stopped, breathing hard, than continued with a large effort. "My father was Morzan." His hand dropped to his hunting knife.

Oromis was looking at him as expressionlessly as he could. The elf contemplated him for a while, before asking; "Did you tell the Queen?"

Eragon shook his head, " No, Saphira advised me not to, though I thought I should, but I did as as she said."

"How are you coping with this?" asked Oromis.

"I – well, at first I just felt miserable, but Nasuada and Arya, they supported me, they didn't - don't care who my father was. I am fine now, I still hate Morzan, though. He as good as killed my mother, and nearly killed Murtagh at the age of three, and ruined countless peoples lives, as well as my mother's." Eragon snorted angrily, " 'Strong of body, weak of mind' Brom was right. And so is his son."

"I am proud of the way you have handled this, Eragon. I am very pleased. You have matured a lot." he paused. "Which means there is something I must tell you. I believe you will handle it well."

Eragon said nothing, he was too surprised.

"It is to do with your father." Oromis continued, "Saphira has just told me."

"What do you mean, master?"

This time Oromis sighed. "Morzan was not your father; Brom was."

--

Ha-ha! My first cliffie! I'm so proud! So, what do you reckon? I hope I surprised you!!!!!!!

Please review and tell what you think!


	14. Time

Thank-you so much to all reviewers! 101 reviews! Thank you Thank you Thank you Thank you!

Chapter Fourteen. 

Time.

Eragon sat still in shock. "Wh-what do you mean, master? Morzan-"

"Morzan was not your father, and his son is only your half-brother." Oromis looked him over carefully, "I expect you have some questions for me now."

"I-what do you- how did you - but Murtagh!" Eragon burst out.

"Murtagh told you it in the ancient language, yes, but it was only what he _believed._ In actual fact, Brom was your sire."

"How?" gaped Eragon weakly.

Oromis sighed again. "I am not completely sure of all the points, understand Eragon, but I will do my best. First, you have my assurance that you are indeed his son, you are alike in may ways." Oromis stopped again, gathering his thoughts, while Eragon stared blankly. "Your mother already had her son, Murtagh, when the news of the egg came. Morzan, who was by then the last of the Forsworn, was sent to get it back. As he was wont to do, he took Selena along too. No doubt for his foul purposes."

"As you know, Morzan was killed in Teirm and and then Selena was left alone. Brom found her, and after making sure she was safe and true, invited her to travel with him. She did, probably in debt to him, and there was also the fact that she had nowhere else to go, and so they travelled."

"They travelled far, from Gil'ead to Dras Leona, and wherever else Brom's work as an agent for the Varden took him. It was in Daret the she found she was pregnant. The two were deeply, deeply in love, and Brom knew he could not raise a family. Selena had family, your Uncle Garrow and Marian, and she wanted to take you there to be born."

"She insisted on going alone, so he left her as close to the village as he could, and she went to Garrow and Marian. Once you had been born, she heard news from his friend, Jeod,that Brom was in Dras Leona, and so she hastened that way."

"But it was a trap, set up by Galbatorix himself,though why he wanted her, I have no knowledge. In Dras Leona she was caught again, and taken back to Uru'Baen. I do not know what happened in Uru'Baen, but Selena was not killed just then. She was reunited with Murtagh, and she lived another few months, before dying peacefully in her sleep." Oromis stopped, head bowed, facing Eragon across the table.

Eragon was in shocked silence. Finally he managed to get some of his scattered thoughts about him. "But why didn't Brom stop her? He should have insisted on coming with her to Uncle's house!"

"Ah, Eragon, I don't know." Oromis shook his head, "Perhaps he didn't want your Uncle and Aunt to see him and remember him. I can not make any proper guesses, as the only ones who know are now gone into the void."

"He didn't tell me." Eragon wasn't sure how he felt about this. He thought for a while, as Oromis, too, gathered his thoughts. "I suppose he had to have it that way." he said after a while. Oromis appeared surprised.

"Why do you say that, Eragon?" he asked carefully.

Eragon was quiet a little longer, thinking, before he answered. "If he had told me, word would leaked out to Galbatorix, and he would have killed us. I wish I'd known before though. I wish he was still alive."

"But he cared for you a lot, Eragon." Eragon looked at him, and the old elf smiled. "He went to live in Carvahall with you, and I expect he always had time for you, didn't he?"

Eragon answered slowly, surprised. "Yes, he always had time for me. I used to bombard him with questions abut that Riders and the Dragons and I used to beg for stories and songs about the times of old." Eragon smiled reminiscently, "I used to say 'why, why, why' to everything he said, until he snapped "Because the sky's so high!" And I was so surprised the first time he said it, but he always told me in the end, especially if I got upset. And he used to give me nice food. Strange stuff, like blue cheese and blackberry tea. I could never understand where he got it from."

Oromis had listened to this trip through Eragon's memories quietly, patiently waiting for him to finish. "You accept that he_ was_ your father, then?"

"I do. And I do not blame him for anything."

Oromis nodded in approval. "Well done, Eragon. You really have matured since I have known you."

"Thank-you, master," said Eragon quietly.

"You have a lot to think about,Eragon, you may leave."

"Oh!" he said surprised, "Thank-you, master."

They walked out to the dragons. Saphira had her head laid on the ground, dejected. Glaedr was next to her, his magnificent head arched, staring into the canyon, deep in thought.

_Saphira?_

She raised her head. _Yes, Little One?_

_Oromis says we may go._ He didn't offer any details yet, as he couldn't quite manage the energy necessary for it. She didn't ask any questions.

_All right, Eragon, let's go._

Eragon turned to Oromis. "It is good to see you again, master," he said.

"I feel the same." Oromis acknowledged with a smile. "Tomorrow come straight to me, as I have not yet found someone to spar with you, now Vanir is gone."

"Yes master, goodbye."

"Goodbye Eragon."

Eragon mounted Saphira, and they were soon flying, Eragon still absorbing the unexpected news that Oromis had told him.

_Did Oromis tell you of Brom? _Asked Saphira heavily.

_How did you know?! _

_I was the one who told him._

_What!? _

_I told him._

_But – how did you know? _

_Brom told me himself. _

_What?! _Cried Eragon again.

_He told me everything while we hunted those Urgals you tried to kill._

_But why didn't he tell me!?_

_For the same reasons as you told Oromis. And that he didn't believe you mature enough to receive the information. Please don't be angry at me, Eragon. I did it for the best. _She spoke so dejectedly that he calmed down.

_I'm sorry, Saphira. So when did you tell Oromis?_

_Today. _

_Oh! When he was silent for a while?_

_Yes. Brom wished you to know that he loved your mother as much as the sun and the moon, and that her death broke his heart yet again, and he loved you as well. He said he hopes that you will have better luck in life than he did, and that he will always be with us. _

_Oh Brom..._

Eragon was thoroughly miserable. His father was dead, his mother was dead, his brother was the lowest of the low and once again, his emotions were in turmoil. The identity of his father had changed twice, from a murderer and betrayer, to the greatest man Eragon had ever known; one of the most prestigious and important people in the Varden, and among the elves as well. It would be far better to be able to call himself, Eragon, son of Brom, rather than Eragon, son of none.

_Thank-you Saphira. _He said suddenly, as they entered their house.

_For what, Little One? _

_I don't know...but you were wise with what Brom told you. He was right, I wasn't mature enough to handle it._

_Oh Eragon..._Saphira nuzzled him. He stood in front of her, and wrapped his arms around her huge neck.

_I love you, Saphira._

_I love you as well, Little One. _

Eragon sat down and grabbed some fruit, still relishing the fresh taste, and just thought about this new revelation, and about Brom, his father.

_His father..._

It sounded good to say that, rather than living with the fear that the Varden would find out about Morzan. Murtagh had said that Galbatorix was very pleased to find out that information. Well, he would have a hard time manipulating Eragon now! He had played mind-tricks on Murtagh that first time, by exploiting that fact that he was his fathers son. Eragon would not be manipulated that same way!

Eragon felt slightly more at peace, now that he had resolved that in his mind. He was proud to be Brom's son!

What would Brom think of him now? He wondered. He would probably give him an earsplitting lecture over Elva, then drill him full of questions, to try and get some common sense into his head; because, 'there is reason we are born with brains in our head instead of rocks!' as he had frequently reminded Eragon since the age of five.

Brom had filled Eragon full of stories about the days before Galbatorix, which Aunt Marian had called, "Dangerous nonsense, and Uncle Garrow had referred to as "Harmless fluff,". And so between Brom and the older members of the village, Eragon had had a thorough grounding about everything that had happened within living memory, (or beyond it for Brom). From how Ivor had lost his middle finger, to how Morn's grandfather had caught and killed an Urgal in the craggy heights above the Anora Falls.

Eragon finished the juicy fruit and stared at the large seed, annoying and unanswerable thoughts buzzing around his mind. Finally, unable to deal with the silent questions, he reached for his sword and and buckled it on.

_I am going to the training fields, _he told Saphira.

_All right Little One. Will you walk? _

_Yes, if that is fine for you._

_Of course it is. Enjoy yourself. _

_Thank-you. _

Eragon emerged at the bottom of his tree, and looked around a minute before heading towards the training fields. Once there, he looked around. Who was gong to spar with him?

--

"Why are you here, Niduen?" Arya said as calmly as possible to the dark-haired blue-eyed elf in front of her.

"It was not my choice." Niduen said calmly.

"But why didn't you fight his wishes? I thought you liked Ellesmera. You were born here!"

"I am not like you, Arya. I do not see that need to go against everything that my parents say." Niduen replied, her voice rising slightly.

"We said that we would be best friends forever, that we would stay together." Arya's voice trembled with emotion. "You never visited me, not once! I was a thirty year-old girl, growing up alone, and when my mother banned me from her presence, where were you? You were not there for me, like friends should be! I had go to the Varden on my own, with two elves I had never met before! And you did not even visit when I was in Osilon!"

"What did you want me to do, Arya?! My father will not talk to your mother, he has not got over Evandar's death!" Niduen was breathing heavily. "I am the next heir to the throne after you. He wanted me as far away from the ruling city as he could manage."

"I was completely alone, Niduen! Why didn't you send word?" Arya felt the terrible lump in her throat that she had not felt for so long. "All alone in the largest city of the elves! Was it so hard to write to me?"

Niduen noticed a tiny break in her voice, nearly undetectable. "Arya, you can not have been alone. There are plenty of people in Ellesmera. Surely you weren't alone."

"I was! They treat me like a princess, as if I am incapable of intelligent conversation, or perhaps they thought that I would break if they touched me!"

"Oh, Arya..." Niduen said at a loss or words. "I couldn't send word to you. You know what my father is like. He loved my mother and his brother so much, and when they had that last fight...he decided that we should go. He does not want me to rule, yet he does not want you or Islanzadi to either. There will be fierce competition in Tialdari hall now."

Arya stared at her aghast. "Your father? Here? Why did someone not tell me?!"

Niduen stared at her helplessly. "I hadn't got round to that yet but-"

"But what?" Arya exclaimed. "How dare he just-"

"Arya! Quiet! My father is here on the invitation of your mother!"

Arya felt her mouth wanting to drop, "But why would she do that?"

Niduen averted her eyes, "I think she wants to tell you herself."

"Niduen! Do you know?"

"I know some small things of the agreement. But she wants to tell you herself," the elf insisted. "So please do not press me."

Arya released her hold on her sword. "All right, I won't." Niduen looked relieved. "My mother is in a council at the moment, I will talk to her afterwards. Please leave my home."

Niduen looked injured at her tone, and walked head held high to the door, where she turned and looked back at her irate cousin. Arya's hair was swinging wildly, her eyes were furious and crinkled, and her hands trembled on the pommel of the sword she had been restraining herself from drawing ever since Niduen and her had started their discussion. "Arya, I want you to think on what I've said. I never break my word, and I swore that I would make amends between our families." Niduen turned and left, her loose hair swishing with her movements.

Arya stared at the door. "And a lot of good it did you as well!" she cried after her. Arya clenched her teeth and stormed to her bedroom, where she pinned her hair behind a leather strip. She would take her anger out on some elf foolish enough to challenge her, not that there were may left. "Make amends!" she muttered angrily to herself, "My mother will not tolerate his 'Lordship' here for very long. She can send to war for all I care. Let serve as a squire to Jormundr! Ha! That would serve him right! Teach him respect and humiliation. He needs it."

Arya swung her hair over her shoulder and left her room, still muttering dire threats to every member of the royal family that had not informed her of this new development. To think that her Uncle Evadarr was back. After the death of his brother he had violently opposed Islanzadi as the ruler of the elves, and after she had been announced Queen had removed himself and his daughter, Niduen, from Ellesmera. He was general of Osilon now, and Niduen was no longer a part of her life. Or so she had thought. To have both people she detested the most thrown back into her life was too unexpected for an elf just back from war. Well, she didn't really detest Niduen, but it was too soon to forgive her at the moment. She could have sent word. And why had her mother invited them back to the city?! She had not liked Evadarr any more than she, Arya, had. Perhaps it was Niduen's doing. She had said that she was trying to get the families back together. Maybe she had arranged it.

Arya stormed out of her house, surprising a peaceful Lifaen browsing the bushes, and made her angry way to the training fields.

She was just emerging from there trees onto the empty field, when she realised there was someone behind her. She whirled to the side and drew her sword, bringing it to the neck of the person. A clatter of steel hit her blade, and surprised, she jumped round to face the intruder. She froze. Intense brown eyes locked with hers.

"Eragon!"

"Arya." It was a statement, not a question.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her anger not abated.

"I was going to the training fields." He looked her over, sheathing his knife, "You?"

"I was going there as well." They fell into step beside each other. "How was your first day back in Ellesmera?" she asked.

"It was-it was- well, words cannot describe it." he said, at a loss.

"What do you mean?" she asked in astonishment. She knew he would be glad to be back, but surely that was a little excessive?

"I-" Eragon looked at Arya. She was staring back at him in concern. "It was about my ... family."

"Ah," she said. "I see."

Eragon doubted that she did, but said nothing.

Arya said nothing about his 'family' and they were silent for a little while, until Eragon asked her; "Who was that elf in Tialdari Hall yesterday? Niduen."

"Oh." said Arya, her face darkening. "She is my cousin, but I have not acknowledged her father as my uncle since the age of thirty." Seeing Eragon's confused face, she quickly elaborated. "Niduen is the daughter of Evadarr and Lilena, my fathers brother and sister-in-law, and she was my best friend, before my mother took the throne, anyway.

"Evadarr loved my father deeply, they were as close a brothers can get, and when he was killed he did not want my mother to take the throne. However, she was crowned Queen of the Elves, and in a rage he left Ellesmera, taking his daughter, Niduen, with him. His mate had been killed in our old city of Ewayena, shortly before Evandar. He said that our families would never again be united, and that he wished for his child to have no doing in the corrupted ways of our courts. He swore that he would never return."

"But now his daughter is back?" pressed Eragon.

"Not just her. Her father as well." Arya nearly spat the word.

"Why do you hate her so much?"

"I don't hate her, I'm just not ready to forgive her yet. As for what she has done...that, also, is a long story. She left me without saying a proper goodbye, and she never wrote to me or sent word by the messengers that frequently go between the settlements. In the eyes of elves, I was just a young girl, and as a princess, I was left alone by the other elves. I am just not ready to forgive her yet," she repeated, slightly hopelessly.

Eragon bowed his head in respect, thinking over what she said. "Have you talked to her yet?"

"Niduen? Yes, I have. We shouted quite a bit." she added ruefully.

Eragon smiled slightly. Arya shouting would not be for the faint-hearted. "What did she say?"

"She told me her silly reasons for doing what she did. And I suppose she apologised as best she could."

"Do you forgive her then?"

"I don't know. I will, in time. But they haven't given me any, and my mother invited him back to the city without mentioning it to me!" Arya sighed. "I'm just confused, Eragon, that's all."

He nodded. Appearing to be steeling himself, he asked, "Would you have my advice?"

She stiffened, but looked at him, touched. "I would."

He nodded gain, and caught her eyes. "She is your family. You were once friends. You should reconcile with one another. Family is the most precious thing a person can have, be it child, spouse or brother. Family has more important ties than any magic can conceive. You should accept her apology. It is better to stand united against Galbatorix than as strong individuals." Eragon stopped, and Arya let out her breath. She had never heard him say anything so wise, or heartfelt.

"You are right, Eragon. I will think deeply on what you say. But now, would you like to spar with me?" Arya asked, standing up.

"I would be honoured, Arya Svit-Kona." he said, also rising.

She smiled, and they stepped back to the training field. The settled into position, blunting their blades with magic. Arya lunged first, charging then feinting left to strike on his right calf. He jumped back attacking her ribs before dancing out of her reach again. They fought for hours, while the elves around came and watched, leaving later, but always replaced by more.

Finally, Eragon flipped over her head. She spun to face him, twisting left before he could flick his heavy sword to her throat, but he also vaulted left, coming close to her, and quickly manoeuvring the sword edge to rest on her ribs. She froze, and they held the position for a moment before breaking away, panting and perspiration on their bodies.

Finally, Arya spoke when her breath regulated again. "You are an excellent swordsman, Eragon. Few in Ellesmera can defeat me at sword-wielding."

"You honour me, Princess. But it was just luck."

"I do not think so!" She exclaimed, as she walked over to him, and they turned to leave the field. "You defeated me by the skill of your arms, luck had nought to do with it. You should not have such a low opinion of yourself," she said, and smiled as he turned slightly red.

"Thank-you," he murmured.

They walked through Ellesmera, oblivious to their surroundings. They were too busty talking, lost in their own conversation. They were walking past a round house, with workshop inside, when a hoarse voice called to them.

"Rider! Ho, Rider, come here!"

They spun around, surprised, and saw that Rhunon was outside her house, waving to them.

"Greetings, Rhunon-elda." said Eragon politely.

She scowled. "Never mind all that, where is my creation? My sword?"

"What do you mean, Rhunon?" asked Arya.

"Zar'oc! I notice you have a sword at your belt and I want to know why it is not wine-red!"

Eragon sighed again, but his good mood at talking to Arya did not completely evaporate. "It was stolen by Morzan's heir, Murtagh, his son, at the battle of the Burning Plains."

"What?!" she cried, "How could you let that happen?!"

"It is unavoidable when fighting an untiring foe,trained by Galbatorix himself in the Dark Arts. " He growled. "If you will excuse me." and he left, hand on his sword.

Arya bowed to Rhunon, swiftly, and ran after him. "Eragon!" he stopped and waited for her. She walked next to him, deciding not say anything to him about Rhunon.

I will see you tomorrow, Eragon," she said, as they stood beneath his tree.

He bowed, "I look forward to it."

She smiled and the both departed in far better spirits than they had been a few hours ago.

When Eragon reached his house he found that Saphira was not there, hunting, most likely, so he sat at his table and brewed himself some tea.

Rhunon was a fool if she thought he let Murtagh get Zar'oc. There was no way he could have stopped him taking the sword. And then there was Brom. Eragon knew that in time he would reconcile himself to the fact that Brom was his father, but it would still take a while to come home to him.

Arya was right about not being given enough time. Time was something that there seemed to be a lot of in Ellesmera, and so he hoped that Arya would heed his advice and accept her cousin's apology.

Tomorrow would come, whether he was happy or not, and he would make the best of it.

--

Just a filler, but I hope you enjoyed it! Back to training next chapter, which is where I've drawn a blank completely. Never mind, I hope I'll bet over it!

Please R&R, they make my day!

I've started a forum on Book Three, called Book Three, (I was really inventive with the name) so if you're confused I have stuff about Brom on there. Please leave a reply, I've hardly had any!


	15. Reconciliation

Thank-you so so so much everyone who reviewed!

I have put the rating up, as the story might get really gory as I have just found out while thinking of future battles and the Ra'zac, but M is a very safe rating.

Chapter Fifteen.

Reconciliation.

Eragon yelled as Saphira did a backwards somersault while corkscrewing through the air. They had finished their training for the day, and Saphira was exulting in the frosty air. Life, whether the Black King squatted in his hall, or the Varden fought the Empire, or even the fact that Arya loved him not, was good.

They had been in Ellesmera for one week, maybe two, and were doing well. Eragon sparred every morning with an elf called Anborn. Eragon was as skilled as any elf. Oromis had him reading scroll after scroll, full of history of the Riders, the sagas of long-gone kings, and even a few scrolls about humans, namely King Palancar. He was also, in light of his adoption into Durgrimst Ingietum, learning Dwarfish, as well as Urgal, so that he could communicate with the Nar Garzvhog's Kull. He often found himself thinking in a mixture of the common tongue, Dwarfish, Urgal and the ancient language.

Saphira, meanwhile, had advanced in her flying, though Glaedr said she could learn no more, as her flying showed. Eragon was very glad for the thong that kept his legs and arms in place when she decided to show him what she had learnt.

_Let's go back, Saphira, I'm cold!_

_We've only been flying for a little while!_

_Well, that shows how cold it is. I can't feel my toes any more._

_If you say so. _

_I do say so. _

_Let's go then._

She angled back towards Ellesmera and they were soon there. Saphira landed at the portal and let him off. He staggered of her back, landing clumsily because of his frozen feet and sat down on on of his chairs quickly. _Ow. Saphira, next time you decide to fly in the freezing air, tell me before hand. _

_If you insist. But you wouldn't come then._

_I would, I would just like to have a warning first so that I can put some warmer clothes on._

_So elves **do **get cold then._

_Well I do. But you can ask Arya when when you see her._

_Perhaps you should._

_I value my life more, Saphira._

She laughed. _I am not so interested either. _

_Very wise._

_Ah. It is good that you have restored your friendship so well. _

_I know , I value her friendship very highly. _

_Yes you do, I have noticed. _

_Saphira! _He cried, and she laughed again. _If you want to be useful, then please light the fire._

She grinned at him, showing all her ivory teeth. _Of course, Eragon. _She blew on the kindling in the fire and it caught immediately.

_Thank-you, _he said fervently.

_You are welcome. _

Eragon sat on a cushion by the fire, taking the scrolls that Oromis had given him to read for the day from his pack. They were all written dictionary's of the Kull and Urgal language and one on the dwarvish language too. He began reading them, trying to familiarise himself with the guttural language. He had nearly mastered Dwarvish, and was able to converse fairly fluently in it, after long nights of trying to pronounce the strange sounds.

He had been reading for nearly a half hour when he heard someone knocking on his trap-door. He grabbed his sword and and crept to the hatch. "Who is there?" he called.

"Arya!"

Eragon quickly opened the hatch and she climbed in. She was wearing warm clothes made out of soft wool and down. She had a green tunic on underneath a warm white mantle. "Atra esterni ono thelduin." she said as soon as she was able to speak.

"Mor'ranr lifa unin hjarta onr." he replied. "How are you?"

"I am well. And you?"

"Fine."

"Good." she appeared distracted, "I was going to ask you to come for a walk but you look busy, and my feet are frozen."

Eragon smiled, "So were mine a little while ago. Saphira took me for a flight without warning and I had no chance to put warm clothes on."

She smiled back, "But it is warm in here."

He nodded, "Saphira lit a fire for me. Shall we go there?"

"Oh, yes, please. I cannot remember such a cold winter in Du Weldenvarden before!" said Arya as she took of her mantle and they entered the room with the fire. Scrolls were scattered around the hearth and Saphira was curled in her bed. They sat by the fire and Arya saw a scroll lying open. "Urgal?" she asked, surprised.

"Yes, I am learning Urgal and Dwarvish, as I will need to communicate with them when we return to the Varden."

"When do you think you will leave for the Varden again?" asked Arya.

"I don't know. I am not sure how far into my training I am, and how much longer it will take. But-" he hesitated.

"But what?" she pressed.

"I am not sure what I will do when we return. The Varden do not fight wars all the time, and then we would have little to do."

"You will be required at their councils and at Surda's court. And they value your opinion very highly. And I fear that there will be plenty of wars to fight before long." she sighed.

"There will."

They sat peacefully, side-by-side for a while, until Arya broke it. "I have thought about what you said." she paused. "You are right about family. So I have decided to forgive Niduen. I do miss her friendship as well."

He smiled, "I am glad, Arya."

She smiled a little too, staring into the fire, until she blinked and looked back to Eragon. "So, have you visited Griminsmal yet?"

Griminsmal was the fourth mountain in Du Weldenvarden, and Saphira and Eragon had indeed visited it recently, as Glaedr had said they would, before the they had gone back to the Varden. "Aye, we have, but I have never-"

They spent another peaceful her talking about everything and everyone. When the time came that Arya had to leave, she turned before leaving through the trap-door. "Did you know that Anborn has been posted to Osilon?"

"No, I didn't." he said, startled. "Who will I spar with then?"

"Oromis wishes you to know that you will be sparring with me from now on." she turned and left quickly, giving him no chance to answer.

_That was a surprise. _He said to Saphira.

_It is not so bad is it, Little One?_

_No. Are you going hunting?_

_Yes, I may be a while, the animals are hibernating, or taking refuge in the cities now. _

_All right, see you later. _

_Goodbye,Little One. _

_--_

"You wanted to see me, Arya?" Niduen asked.

Arya looked up from her scrolls on the desk in front of her. "Yes, I did."

Niduen nodded and sat down on a chair. Arya's eyes flashed with amusement.

"What is so funny?" asked Niduen, seeing it in her eyes.

"Some things never change. And you certainly haven't."

Niduen frowned, "What do you mean?"

"You look the same, you are as mysterious as always, you still manage to keep your temper no matter what someone says to you."

"Was that a compliment, cousin?"

"It might have been."

Niduen sighed. "Now you are being mysterious. Did you call me here for a reason or not? Because I notice that we are not fighting at the moment."

Arya might have smiled, "I have decided to accept your apology, if you will accept mine for the rash things I have said to you."

Niduen smiled widely, "I accept wholeheartedly. We are friends and family again, then?"

"Of course." They embraced quickly, and Arya said; "But I still will not befriend your father."

"I thought not," sighed Niduen. "Never mind, I didn't expect you to, he will just have to make the best of it. But may I ask," she said suddenly, "why the change of heart?"

This time Arya sighed. "You really haven't changed, I knew you would want to know that." Niduen smiled, "If you have to know, it was Eragon."

"Eragon?" Niduen sat up alertly, "The Rider?"

"Yes, the Rider. He advised me to forgive you."

Niduen narrowed her eyes, "He interfered? What did he say?"

Arya sighed at her suspicion, "He said ''She is your family. You were once friends. You should reconcile with one another. Family is the most precious thing a person can have, be it child, spouse or brother. Family has more important ties than any magic can conceive. You should accept her apology. It is better to stand united against Galbatorix than as strong individuals.'' He wasn't interfering,Niduen, he was just offering friendly advice."

"Oh." there was pause. "Do you know this Rider well, then?"

"Yes, very well."

"Really? How come? Did you meet at the Varden? Is he-"

"Niduen! Eragon and I are friends, that is all. And, no, we did not meet in the Varden, we met in Durza's prison while I was being tortured."

"Oh. In Gil'ead?" she asked for confirmation.

Arya nodded.

"And the Rider rescued you?" Arya nodded again. "Ahh, I see now. And that is how you got to Tronjheim. Yes, that makes sense. I was pondering these enigmas of far away for long hours while still in Osilon."

"And how many did you solve?" asked Arya playfully.

"Oh, many," she answered, just as happily, "but there are some that have been cleared up for me here, and then there are some that have only just presented themselves to me."

"Such as...?"

"The Rider. Now he is strange. A human, yet not a human, though I know what happened at the Agaeti Blodrhen."

"He is not strange, Niduen, it is just that a lot has happened to him in a short while." Arya rebuked her.

"But you like him?"

"Of course!" cried Arya, "We went for walks through Ellesmera before the Agaeti Blodrhen, and visited him only yesterday evening, we talked and -" Arya closed her mouth, fearing she had given her cousin bad ideas. Her cousin betrayed no emotion, but lifted a fine eyebrow, so Arya quickly thought of a diversion before she had to deal with Niduen's inquisitive tongue. "Do you want to come and meet him, then?"

Niduen was surprised, "The Rider?"

"Yes."

"I would be delighted." Niduen jumped off the padded bench with all the energy she had had seven decades ago.

"Let's go then." Arya belted on her sword and picked up her quiver, Niduen did neither; she was no a fighter, though her aim with a bow was fair enough.. "Eragon and I are supposed to spar every morning for from now on, as Anborn has left for Osilon." _I hope he doesn't mind, _she thought with some trepidation.

--

They found Eragon at the training fields, standing at an archery target aiming carefully at the centre. He let the arrow go and it flew at least double a human bow-shot and landed in the target, in the very centre of the bullseye. The sapphire-blue dragon near them snorted, a plume of smoke and a spark of fire emitting from her nostrils.

_Greetings, Arya. _The dragon greeted her.

_Hello, Saphira, how are you?_

_I am fine. You are here to spar with Eragon?_

_I am, and this is my cousin, Niduen. _

_Ah yes, your family. _The dragon lowered her head and looked into Niduen's eyes. Niduen bore her gaze, resisting the urge to look away.

_Atra esterni ono thelduin, Saphira Bjartskular. _Niduen said,greeting her as best she could.

"_Mor'ranr lifa unin hjarta onr." _The dragon replied.

"_Un du evarinya ono varda._" Niduen finished, her eyes shining. She had never seen any dragons, apart from Glaedr, and Saphira was very different from him. _It is an honour to meet one so great, _she said to Saphira earnestly.

The dragon appeared pleased. _Thank you, Niduen. May I enquire as to why you are here? _She asked Arya.

_I have come to spar with Eragon and Niduen wished to accompany me. _

_I see. I will call him. _Saphira extended her mind to him and told him of the arrival of Arya. She did not, however, notify him of Niduen's presence.

Eragon turned quickly, hand flying to the only weapon on his belt, a heavy human battle sword. He relaxed when he saw Arya, but his gaze lingered on Niduen and she felt as if she was being put through some test. In truth, Eragon did not trust her because of the way she had made Arya miserable, but neither she nor Arya realised it.

"Good morning, Eragon!" Arya called. He walked over to them, bow in one hand, sword pommel in the other.

"Good morning, Arya. Are you ready to spar?" he asked, eyes twinkling.

"I am, but may I introduce Niduen, my cousin and friend."

Eragon bowed to Niduen and looked her over, not looking terribly surprised. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Niduen. Will you spar with us?"

Her eyes widened, "No, thank-you Argetlam, but I fight only with a bow and magic."

"Very well." he turned to Arya. "Shall we?"

She smiled and they blunted their blades and settled into position. They charged at exactly the same time and their blades clashed against each other, sparks flying before they drew away again.

They used such powerful strokes that the grass rippled when they moved. Blow after blow, clash after clash they fought, never tiring, never winning.

Eragon dodged one way then swerved to avoid her thin sword, and Arya countered his attack. They came in close and rained blows down, neither giving up until Niduen stood up.

"Stop!" she cried.

They froze and looked at her in surprise. "What is wrong?" asked Arya frowning.

"You have been fighting for an hour!" she said.

"An hour?" said Eragon, dismayed. "You will have to excuse me, we will be late for training. Thank-you for the training, Arya Svit-Kona. Niduen," he bowed to them and leapt onto Saphira. She glanced at the two elves before launching herself into the sky.

Niduen looked after the blue dragon while Arya took he blunt off her blade, running her fingers down it as a green spark flickered between her sword and her finger.

"What are you doing this evening, Niduen?" asked Arya as they walked back to Tialdari Hall.

"Nothing, why?"

"I know my mother has called a council this evening and you should attend, though it is optional."

"Certainly. What about my father?"

Arya sighed. "We shall tell him, we cannot leave him out, after all. Let us get it over with, then."

"He is not a lion in his den, Arya," Niduen said, "He will not eat you."

"Ha." muttered Arya.

Evadarr was staying in Tialdari Hall, in one of the best rooms, though he seldom left them. Arya had hardly seen him since arriving in Ellesmera. Niduen knocked on his door and it swung open after a short pause to reveal an elf with sharp black eyebrows that met in the middle, making him look like he had a permanent frown on his face and black hair that stopped at his shoulders.

"Niduen, what do you want? I told you I was not to be disturbed." he said quite harshly, then he noticed Arya. "Princess." he sneered, "To what do I owe this honour?"

Keeping her temper in check she answered, "Niduen and I came to tell you that the queen has called a council this evening and that you must come as my father's kin."

"Niduen and yourself...?" he murmured.

"Father, we have reconciled, and are friends again." Niduen said to her father.

His eyes lingered on the two elves before saying curtly; "I am pleased for you. Good day to you both," and he shut the door. Niduen and Arya looked at each other.

"He really hasn't change either," Arya told her cousin.

"Arya..." sighed Niduen, "I do not want to have battle of the tongues every time you meet, so please do not provoke him."

Arya scowled, "I will not, if you wish. I will see you later. Nasuada gave me some supply theories she wanted me to look at while I was here."

"See you later, then." said Niduen.

Arya nodded and she turned for her rooms in Tialdari Hall, while Niduen made for the very centre of Ellesmera.

--

"Very good. Now try and extend that branch of magic to lift the stone, but keeping the water in place." Oromis carefully explained, as Eragon tried to keep three balls of water and three stones in the air at once.

Eragon gently pulled on the magic and lifted the stone carefully, remembering to balance the energy needed for the water as well.

"Excellent Eragon. I think we will stop there for the day. Let them down slowly, now."

Eragon released the magic and lowered the objects to the ground, and the water splashed out and leaked onto the grass of the clearing they were in.

They walked back to Oromis' hut, as Glaedr and Saphira were at The Stone of Broken Eggs. Oromis sat down at his table, setting some tea to boil.

"There is one thing I wanted to ask you, Eragon." Eragon looked up at the old rider, startled. "You told me of Helgrind. But you told me that your cousins wife's father was captured as well. Did you find him?"

"I did." said Eragon resentfully, "he was dead. They had partially eaten him and left him in the cell. We were sure it was him because of his heavy, blunt features. And Roran and I have had enough dealings with Sloan to know his face, disfigured or not."

"Ahh. Does Katrina know?" asked Oromis.

"Yes. He was killed in front of her, we think. She had terrible nightmares while we were returning to the Varden. Arya and I believe that she witnessed his death."

Oromis drew a breath. "The poor girl. The Ra'zac, foul as they are, are clever. I suspect they were ordered not to kill her, but they did not make her imprisonment pleasant either. They probably did that to give her terrible horrors, to drive her insane, or to withdraw into her mind."

Eragon clenched his fist. "I should have drowned them in Seithr Oil."

Oromis looked him over calmly. "Do no be so quick to judge. But you are probably right. The Ra'zac are valuable servants to the King. They are able to do things even the Shurtugal could not, as they are not human. They are made to hunt humans, to track them down and haunt their worst dreams. They also have a unique talent that is no doubt very useful to their master."

"What is that, master?" Eragon asked, curiosity piqued.

"They have the ability to sense things about their prey, namely, humans. They can sense whether a person can use magic, is a great warrior, or simply very powerful. I expect that is how Galbatorix gathered many of his pet magicians."

"So if someone had the ability to use magic, but were unaware of it, the Ra'zac would know?" Eragon asked.

"Exactly. That is how they manage to terrorize a land, for if they know who to attack and who not to, then they will never be hurt, or so they think."

"Lifaen told me when we were travelling on the canoes that they followed King Palancar over that sea. Does that mean that they were the things that drove him away from his home land?" Eragon pressed.

"The elves had been in this land long by then, and we were unaware of what happenings were taking place over the ocean, but yes, it is likely that they were the cause of his exile. However some followed him over the ocean, and the two you killed were the last of the race, as the riders had done their best to eradicate them for good."

Eragon nodded, absorbing this information. "But if they are afraid of water, as you told me, then how did thy follow Palancar over the sea?"

Oromis sighed. "I have no knowledge of that, but I know that they dislike water. Perhaps they made ships for themselves, or maybe they flew."

Eragon frowned, "But why would leave a land they had just conquered to fly across an ocean that they had no way of knowing the size of, especially as they hate water."

"I have told you, Eragon, I do not know."

"Yes master." Eragon knew that Oromis wanted him to leave the subject and so he did. "Saphira is coming," he said suddenly, feeling her presence enter the Crags.

"Glaedr is as well." Oromis and Eragon exited the hut and watched as the blue and gold dragons landed on the cliff.

_Hello, Little One._

_Hello Saphira. What did you learn?_

_Far too much to tell of in one minute. I will tell you on the way back._

_All right. _

You may both leave, now." Oromis told them, "You have worked well today."

"Thank-you masters."

Oromis nodded and Eragon climbed into the saddle and they left quickly. _So what did you learn?_

_How resistant to Dragon fire some rocks are and how easy it is to melt them and how to use them as weapons. You?_

_How to use different tendrils of magic for the same purpose but with separate object, but I learned something about the Ra'zac as well..._

_--_

"Doves? Will they not get intercepted?" asked Arya.

Her mother smiled in a mysterious way, reminiscent of Niduen. "No, they will not. They have spells laid on them by the best of our spellweavers and Galbatorix has set no spies along the our borders, and the Black Hand operate in Surda only. It will be an efficient way of getting news to all parts of the resistance. Will Nasuada do it, do you think?"

Evadarr watched them, brows contracting. Arya thought for a moment. "I believe she will, as she needs more communication with the elves anyway. How will you tell her of it?"

"I will send a dove to Annatar," replied that queen. "Though he cannot reply because of the wards, he will tell Nasuada and she will trust him."

"Good idea, mother." Arya briefly looked her mother in the eyes than back down to the map of Surda, Du Weldenvarden and the surrounding nomad lands, so she did no notice the flash of happiness and love that her mother's face bore at the compliment from her daughter; it had been too long since Arya had called her mother.

"Dathedr has been delegated to contact Annatar, we should have his response shortly." Evadarr said in clipped tones.

"Thank-you, Evadarr." Islanzadi raised her head and smiled at him. He was disconcerted, and made a quick retreat back to his rooms. Niduen bowed to mother and daughter and followed him.

Arya watched them go, "Has – has Evadarr said anything to you about Niduen?"

Islanzadi looked at her daughter searchingly, "No, but I hear you both went to the training grounds together and that raised voices were not heard in Tialdari hall today. Would you care to enlighten me?"

Arya was surprised at how quickly news travelled. "Niduen apologised last week, and so I accepted her apology today with one of my own for the harsh things I said." Arya finished.

Islanzadi smiled. "So the families are united again. Evadarr has told me that he will dine with us from now on." she paused. "I know you do not like him but he does want the Drottningu name united." Without waiting for a reply from Arya, she continued; "Do you think Bellaen should come?"

"What do you mean mother? He is not of the royal family!"

"No..." her mother mused. "But I want him to take care of Niduen's household now."

"Why?" asked Arya. "He already takes care of Eragon's, and Hadrim is managing fine."

"He is the finest of the House of Miolandra, and Niduen is of your father's blood. She deserves the best."

"Of course, mother." Arya did not want to argue with her mother on such a trivial thing. "I will see you tomorrow."

"Goodbye, Arya," she replied. "Sleep well."

Arya smiled, and left for her rooms in the far wing of Tialdari Hall. Perhaps she would have a fire tonight. There was hoarfrost coming, she could feel it.

--

_How far away are we from completing our training, do you think? _Eragon asked Saphira.

_I do not know, Little One, but perhaps not so long. _

_Oromis is getting weaker, Saphira. _It was very true. Oromis' strange illness would strike more and more often, completely unexpectedly.

_Glaedr fades as well, though in a different way from Oromis. _Saphira said, her spirits low.

_Morzan's fault. _Eragon said suddenly. _Him and the rest of his accursed band of traitors. _

_It is a pity Brom got to Morzan before us, _Growled Saphira.

_Well, we have his son to deal with, and he is bad enough._

_Only because of his dark powers taught to him by his master. _

_Oromis knows how Galbatorix has so much power, but he still withholds that information. It must be truly terrible that they have not even told the Varden. _

_I know, Eragon. I can not think what foul ways he has gathered power. _

_Me neither, but I do not think of them simply because Oromis has told me will tell me when the time is right, I do not think he would want us to dwell on it._

_You are right, Little One. I think we are happier not knowing anyway._

_I agree. _

And with these sombre thoughts in their heads, dragon and Rider slept.

--

Annatar woke in a panic as an immensely powerful mind battered down his defences as he slept. He immediately started to weave his most complex spells but the presence spoke urgently in the ancient language.

_Stop, Annatar, Spellweaver of the Varden! It is I, Dathedr of Ellesmera. _

Annatar tried to reply, but Dathedr was evidently within the borders of Du Weldenvarden, and so the wards stopped him from talking back to the elf.

_I am contacting you to tell you that the queen will send a dove to the Varden. Rest assured that it is trustworthy and explain what it says to the Lady Nasuada. Send our regards to your other vassals, Annatar. The queen sends her greetings and respect for the worthy job you are doing._

Dathedr left his mind and Annatar let out a breath. He would watch carefully for that dove.

--

Another filler!I really don't know what to do with Eragon at the moment, so next chapter will move things along a bit.

Thanks for all the wonderful reviews! (feel free to leave a few more!) And thanks for keeping with me.


	16. Servants Quarters

Thank you reviewers! You Are So Cool!

Physicians are doctorsm and Apothecarys are unqualified doctors who use herbs and stuff. That's what it was like in Britain 200 years ago.

Chapter Sixteen. 

Servants Quarters.

Nasuada leaned her head on her chin and stared at the door through which Annatar had just left.

_Doves..._

It was a very clever idea, and trust the elves to think of it. The Varden, since Deynor's time, had used doves to contact their agents in the Empire, though in that time the elves had been more reticent and communication with them had not been so necessary. But now she would be able to communicate, if not a freely as she would have wished, with Eragon and Arya and, by extension, Saphira. The Queen would be able to tell her of when the elves would march and she would be able to hear of their doings sooner.

Nasuada's eyes strayed to the boarded up windows of her solar room. Despite the unbearable heat, her windows were still kept closed as the fear of assassins was great; the Council of Elders did not trust the elves' magic completely. They had been like that since the first attempt on her life, which, she reflected, had been prevented by Elva as she had been under her curse.

Elva was now a happy bouncing, eighteen-month-old-looking child, though she was in fact two and a half years of age. The girls' black curls bounced happily when she giggled and spiked when she was angry. The vibrant colour of her eyes was still very unusual, but Angela took care of her very well. In fact, Nasuada had reason to believe that Solembum slept in the infant's bed, which delighted Elva no end. The girl enjoyed teasing his hair into two-strand braids and strange peaks and curls. Solembum was not very impressed but he seemed to like his charge anyway, no matter the way his dignity was being battered.

Katrina had become Nasuada's friend and familiar; at least, that was the pretext under which Nasuada paid her servants wages, but she was careful to remind Katrina that she was_ not _a servant and that Nasuada valued her company very highly. In fact Katrina was slowly but surely collecting money to start a family with Roran, though a marriage had not yet been discussed as Roran was very busy with his division.

So Katrina slept in Nasuada's rooms and prepared clothes, did minor accounts, and generally helped Nasuada more that she could know. Katrina had struck up a tentative friendship with Hepzibah, though it was difficult to be friends with someone that was below you and yet native to the country with other friends among the cooks, maids and waiters of Borromeo castle. Still, friends they were, and happy too.

Nasuada shuffle through some of the many papers on her desk an found the one she wanted.

_Urgal settlements. _

Ah, that was the one she wanted; she had asked Arya to take a copy with her to the elves and then tell her what she thought when she returned to Surda. The Kull had been given land just outside Surda. It was not excellent land for humans, bordering on Beor Mountains like they were, which made them just to harsh for humans to start from scratch in an already war-reliant country, but the Garzvhog told her that it was fine for his Kull to live in. The game was fair, and when it ran out they had sufficient things to hunt in the mountains as their huge size ensured, able to crush a bear with their bare hands. The land was enough to grow tough vegetables in, and bread and wine was delivered to the makeshift town to keep the population from starving.

_The Kull will be our allies as long as the Varden endures..._Nasuada mused, a smiled gracing her lips. She did like Garzvhog; he was clever, wise in war and generally a very useful asset to the Varden. She also used her name 'Nightstalker' as her surname, it made her sound more dangerous and it would hopefully confuse Galbatorix if he heard it.

Nasuada lowered eyes to scroll and was soon lost in the possibilities of having a bustling town on the borders of the Beors.

_Flood barriers will have to be built to keep the Kaylin River in it's banks, as it runs close to the main building. So far, four smiths have agreed to make bars for constructing stable houses and..._

_-----_

Katrina's hands hung loosely by her side and she sighed as she pushed open the door to her small room next to Nasuada's bedroom. She stopped short. A tall, thin woman of about sixty years of age was flourishing a starched white blanket over her bed. She tucked all the corners in nurse-style and began to unfold some sheets before she noticed Katrina.

Her iron-grey bun, severely pinned up and fastened a the back of his head, coupled with her thin lipped look of disapproval, gave her a very forbidding look.

"Excuse me, ma'am. I was changing the bedclothes." She spoke in clipped tones and she eyed Katrina's embroidered dress darkly.

"Oh – oh, yes, of course." Katrina said, caught off guard. She was not particularly pleased to see her bed in a mes instead of warm soft and very inviting for a tired woman as it should have been.

The woman turned back to the bed and Katrina hovered by her door, unable to decide what she should do. "Isn't Hepzibah here?" she asked, concerned for her friend.

The woman sniffed. "She has a head-cold, so I have had to come and do this," she nodded at Katrina's half-made bed. "Because the other maid cannot be spared. As Mistress of the Chambermaids I do not normally commit my self to unimportant tasks."

Katrina felt cowed, but angry as well at the way this woman seemed to think she owned the castle, she also realised who this woman was; she was Clara, the one who terrified the bubbly Hepzibah. "Lady Nasuada would like to know that. I will tell her this evening."

Clara flushed at the meaning in the statement. It showed that Katrina was on speaking terms with the leader of the Varden, and so higher up the eyes of the court.

"I do not believe Nasuada cares for such a scatterbrained girl as Hepzibah; there is no need to trouble her."

Katrina felt a hot surge of anger thrill through her body. "Hepzibah is a very capable maid, Nasuada likes her very much and I think the Lady would like to know that she is ill. Perhaps we would send a physician to see her."

Clara's eyes narrowed, though a pasty flush rose on her neck. "I have sent for an Apothecary all ready."

"And what did he say? I am sure you know what it is? After all, she has been absent for a day or so." The hidden snub did not go unnoticed by Clara.

"It is a simple head-cold, as I said. No doubt made from cleaning the King's wing of the castle in the dark." Even in warm climate like Surda, the days shortened. The servants were often still doing daily jobs at four-thirty, yet in the pitch black.

Katrina summoned her best political smile, made to please or delicately offend, depending on the occasion. She had seen Nasuada use it numerous times when dealing with Orrin's troublesome nobles. "Would you please tell me where I can find her? I would like to talk to her and perhaps help take her mind off her illness."

"Oh, she is the servants quarters...My Lady." she said resentfully. "But you do not belong there." Her eyes took in Katrina's pretty dress and clean slippers again.

"No, I am not familiar with them," agreed Katrina, "But if my bed is not ready soon, I will have to beg to share their rooms anyway." she said pointedly.

Making a noise like a vicious hound at the throat of it's prey, she turned to the bed, twitched the blanket into place and picked up the dirty linen, sweeping past Katrina with a venomous glance, grey head held high, jaw twitching. Katrina looked after her, slightly stunned. A well-known voice interrupted her thoughts.

"It looks like Clara has finally met her match." Nasuada had appeared, and was also watching the chamber door close with a loud bang.

Katrina said nothing.

"You are much more diplomatic than you think," Nasuada told Katrina with a smile."It takes a lot to make Clara lose her self control."

"_That _is the Mistress of the Chambermaids?!" said Katrina incredulously.

"Yes, _that _is. She inspires terror into even the King's butler."

"I can imagine." said Katrina. "She said that Hepzibah was unwell. A head-cold."

Nasuada looked faintly worried. "Have they sent for a physician?"

"An Apothecary. Clara said it was nothing."

"Hmm. It depends which Apothecary it was. If it was Hendrix from the Keep, then she has been in safe hands."

Katrina nodded. "I am going to see her this evening, so I can ask her then."

Nasuada's looked surprised. "You are going to see her in the servants quarters?" Katrina nodded. "That is nice of you, she will be pleased to see you."

Katrina smiled. "Yes, but now Clara has gone I was going to change into something that does not resemble a carpet." The dress was Elessari's daughter's husband's sister's cousin's state dress, and was so stiff with embroidery that it nearly stood up on it's own. "Do you want those papers stamped now? I have nothing to do until tea."

"Nothing but sleep." Nasuada pointed out. "Hepzibah may not appreciate it if you fell asleep while she was talking."

Katrina sent a grateful look at Nasuada and entered her small bedroom, taking her heavy bodice and skirt off, and stowing her corset in a cupboard. She wouldn't have to wear it while visiting Hepzibah. Katrina sat on her bed, prising the rich slippers that Nasuada and Hepzibah had introduced her to, and flopped back into the pillows and promptly fell asleep.

--

"A small sprain, nothing more. Bind it in rags and hobble about a bit and you will be fine." The healer told Brig, the young soldier. "It will be slightly swollen, but in a couple of days you'll be fit as a fiddle."

The blonde-haired soldier nodded and went to sit on the shade of one of the many rocks that studded the training ground. Roran looked around at the many young men in his regiment. He was training them with all the knowledge and experience he had, greatly helped by Fredric, and knew that he was training them for their deaths. They would battle against Galbatorix and so many of them would die. It made Roran's heart clench.

_They deserve better than this..._

But it was better to die valiantly fighting the evil King than to die a conscripted soldier torn from his home and made to fight for Galbatorix, while your family toiled under his iron thumb.

Family he no longer had – but then he remembered Katrina and Eragon. Katrina was even more beautiful now, as she filled out and became healthier. She was paid servants wages because Nasuada had insisted that she was an excellent friend, companion and very clever and that she helped immensely with anything Nasuada asked her to do.

Roran wished that they could marry soon, yet he knew that it was impractical. When the Varden were at war, with people dying, assassins lurking in cities and the Black Hand infiltrating Surda, what did two unimportant people's happiness matter?

Katrina wished to marry, he knew that, but she said nothing, knowing that the time was not right. Still they spent any spare time they had together and they made the most of each other's company.

Katrina liked Eragon. Although he was a war hero, Shadeslayer, Elf-friend, Dragon Rider, Vassal of Nasuada Nightstalker, Katrina still seemed to think of him as his little brother, needing to be encouraged to take baths on cold days, as his mother had had trouble doing; Eragon had been amazingly stubborn about washing, especially in the winter. Katrina wanted to make sure he ate enough and the right things as well. She had not been pleased when she had found out he did not eat meat.

He hoped that Eragon would return soon, merely because he missed him, though word had come from the dwarves that the rose-gem was more than halfway finished. Eragon was supposed to return for that, but if he was with the elves, Rider-training being completed, Roran couldn't see why Eragon would return when the gem could easily wait. Roran glances at the sky, seeing it nearly dark. They would have to return inside soon, or they would be caught in the dark.

"Halt! Regiment M back to base!" Roran hollered out over the field. The other leaders followed his example and ordered their companies back inside.

The healer reached his side and began to discuss the state of some of the armour. "Nails protrude from the only whole suits we have and..."

Roran, concerned about the lack of proper defence, talked seriously with them man for the walk back to the castle barracks.

--

"Ah, but if he had returned to Ewayena at that point then -" Oromis broke of, his hands clawing at anything within reach; his robes, the table, he nearly overturned his cup.

"Master!" Eragon cried, but as quick as it was over the attack ceased.

Oromis calmed his breathing, then resumed what he was saying, ignoring what had just happened. "If he had not returned to Ewayena, he would not have been able to..."

Eragon looked sadly at his master. _He is weak, Saphira. Very weak. _

_I know, Little One. It pains me to see him like that._

_Me as well, Saphira. _Eragon glanced out at the window at Saphira and Glaedr, sitting side-by-side on then edge of that cliff. _Me as well. _

--

Excuse me, is Hepzibah in this room?" The servant Katrina had asked nodded her head.

"Secon' door on th' righ'." The skinny girl answered. "She's jus' thrown up." she added matter of factly.

"Oh – thank you." Katrina nodded to the girl and enter the indicated door. It had shabby furniture, but the bed linens were blindingly white and a bowl was laid by the bed, in which Hepzibah lay.

She was pale underneath her cinnamon coloured skin, and goose-pimples were visible on her shaking arms. Her teeth were ground together and she seemed to be resisting the urge to let her teeth chatter. The room smelled very faintly of vomit. When the serving-girl saw Katrina, her eyes widened.

"Katrina!" she said loudly as she could managed then winced. "Stay still." she commanded from her bed. "You're spinning. What are you doing here?" she finally said.

Katrina brought a chair to her bedside and took the girl's clammy hand. "I came to see how you were."

Hepzibah looked as if she couldn't believe her ears. "To see me? Weren't you busy? Jill said that the elves were all standing by her doors and doing spells with funny words today."

"I came to see you because you're my _friend."_ Katrina said. "Clara said you were ill."

"That's – that's really nice of you, Katrina." Hepzibah said, touched, then realised what she had said in the latter part of her speech. "You met Clara? I expect that wasn't pleasant."

Katrina smiled at the memory and Hepzibah cheering up. "No, it wasn't pleasant. But Nasuada said that I was the first person to..." Katrina told Hepzibah the story of Clara and the servant forgot her sickness and laughed gently, careful not to exert her body, at the story.

Katrina stayed with Hepzibah fr a long time and when she had to leave it was close on Ten o'clock.

"Goodnight, Hepzibah." Katrina kissed her forehead and patted her hand and went towards the door. Hepzibah looked happier than she had and was already falling asleep.

"G'night Katrina," she yawned and closed her eyes. She was sleeping peacefully within minutes.

Katrina walked back along the corridor outside the servants' chambers, not expecting to meet anyone, as it was late, until she walked full tilt into someone. She saw a tall hulking shape in front of her and opened her mouth to scream but the person spoke to her.

"Ssh, Katrina, it's only me!" The voice was vaguely familiar.

"Who is me?" she asked.

"Me, Orrin!" The man unshuttered the lamp he held in his hand and she saw hi properly. It was indeed Orrin, Monarch of Surda. "Please be quiet Katrina!"

She was surprised he remembered her name, but then she had met him few times with Nasuada. He was wearing a dark cape and his usual golden coronet was absent, but his handsome, olive-skinned face was just that same as always. "What are you doing here, Your Highness?" she hissed, angry at the shock she had received. "It is late."

"I know that it is late, Lady." Katrina remembered, abashed, that he _was _the king, no matter the time or place. "I was told that Hepzibah was ill and that she was in this wing." He finished anxiously, glancing around as if to see a sign directing him to Hepzibah.

"She is here, I have just been visiting her, but she is asleep now. Why do you want to see her?" she asked, once again forgetting her place; she was not used to talking with royal people, though Orrin didn't seem to notice.

"She – well, she didn't come to – er- clean my experiment room and I was well – worried about her."

"Oh, I...see," she said, though she didn't really. "She has vomited but I have been with her since seven and she is better now, though her last meal was yesterday."

"Ahh, good, good," he said distractedly, then suddenly; "Where is she?"

"Second door on the right but -" She was cut off as he thanked her swiftly and went towards Hepzibah's room.

Katrina shook her head and carried on back to Nasuada's rooms, pondering the strange goings on of Royalty.

--

Pleeeeeeeeeese review! I love it when people do that...(Hint hint)


	17. Storms

All I can say is; I really have had trouble getting my plot together, I'm afraid, and couldn't write anything because I would have made a real mess. I am sorry for keeping you all waiting, especially the good guys who reviewed, I just didn't want to dig a very deep grave then fall into it and be stuck with an impossible plot.

Thank you **so,so,so** much for your reviews. They make me feel so loved D:)

Let's say Rhiap is a saint that the servants like to swear by; it's from Tad Williams.

Chapter Seventeen.

Storms.

Islanzadi smiled. Annatar's dove had been returned with agreeing from Nasuada, confirming that they understood the new method of communication and that it would be put into use very shortly.

"It will work, Dathedr. I must compliment your ingenuity." She said to the tall elf-lord standing by her throne. He smiled and bowed to her.

"Thank-you, Your Majesty."

"Yes. Here, take the bird," Islanzadi handed the white dove over to Dathedr and he took it before it could open it's wings.

"Yes, Queen. Farewell." Dathedr turned and left with a bow. The Queen watched him go. Dathedr was old, even by elven standards. He had been an excellent friend and advisor to her mate, Evandar, and was one of the most powerful mages in all of Ellesmera. His mate, Manila, lived near the Menoa tree, though she did not like court and stayed away, tending to her plants.

Islanzadi walked back to her rooms, past Niduen's and past Evadarr's. Arya's home was on the far wing of Tialdari Hall; after she had...taken the Yawe she had moved her rooms as far away from the Queens as she could manage, without so much as a by-your-leave, though it was to be expected. Arya's temper and pride had not permitted her to stay within seeing-distance of her mother.

Islanzadi found her room and entered it, lighting a small lamp and sitting at her desk. She picked up a goose feather pen and began to compose a letter to Nasuada.

_To- _

How should she address the the letter? The queen looked back at Nasuada's note and saw that it was signed 'Nasuada Nightstalker, Lady of the Varden.'

_To Lady Nightstalker,_

_We are pleased that..._

The queen spent a while composing as short letter informing her of anything she deemed important then she set it aside and began getting ready for bed; she world give the dove to Dathedr in the morning.

--

"You must concentrate let your mind settle on your object, then let your magic surround you, only then will it work as it is supposed to."

Eragon sighed, then focussed on the small branch he was suppose to be lifting without saying the words of the ancient language out loud; wordless magic was just as hard as he had expected it to be.

This time, however, as he felt the magic surround him, it felt different. More controlled, somehow, but he still struggled to say the word and keep the same balance between the magic and his energy.

_Reisa! _He thought forcefully. The branch lifted high into the air, pitching as it rose above the dragons, then disappeared down into the canyon below.

"Better," said Oromis, "it is control you must learn now. But it is time for the midday meal now. Let us return to my home."

--

Oromis sat at the wooden table, carefully picking apart a plump mulberry. "Now, the elves, being as we live for so long, had to regulate the ages of the ones eligible to be Riders; they were all twenty-five years old or less." He paused, gathering his thoughts. "The reason for this was that some elves were thousands of years old and when a dragon is bonded with someone, they forge a powerful connection, but, if the dragon has to sift through hundreds of years of memories and happenings just to get to know their rider, the bond was never properly forged.

"The riders learnt this after the tragedy of Talana and her Rider." Oromis stopped, staring at the walls of his hut as if seeing far off and long-gone things. Eragon waited patiently, used to the long gaps that were frequent in the old elf. Eventually Oromis continued.

"Talana was flying; she was not long hatched and was hovering over one of the lesser know parts of the Beor Mountains. A Nagra caught her, slowly killing her before taking her to some dark hole where he enjoyed his unusual meal.

Eragon was sickened. The thought of that happening to any dragon was a terrible thought, especially as it could easily have been Saphira. He looked at Saphira. She was watching the intently; she was listening to Oromis through their mental link. Her scaled face showed no emotion, though.

"Her Rider, in the dwarf city of Tarnag, had no idea his dragon had been killed. He felt strange, empty perhaps, but did not realise what had happened. Only when an Elder told him to call Talana did he realise she was gone. The loss did not kill him and he spent many years alone, travelling the length of Alagaesia before quietly dying close to the very place his dragon had been killed." Oromis sighed. "It unbalanced the newly-established Riders dangerously, but they learnt from their mistake. From then on, only those twenty-five years of age or under were allowed to have the opportunity to become Riders. The same thing never happened again."

Eragon was silent, staring at the grain of the table in front of him. "So ... so even if we did get the last dragon egg," he said, "there would be the chance that it would hatch only for someone older?"

His master nodded gravely. "There is that chance. There is also the very likely possibility that I will not be here to make sure the egg is handled properly. That will be your job, and so it is _vital _that you know and remember this."

"I will Master," Eragon said sombrely.

"I know you will, Eragon." Oromis surveyed Eragon through keen eyes. "Seeing as the number of young elves has dwindled since Galbatorix came to power, that age will have to be lifted to around, perhaps about fifty to seventy-five. I am estimating only; the dragon will chose it's Rider, as has always happened. Another possibility is hat I will not be able to train the new rider. Should that occur, it will be your job to do so."

Eragon's eyes widened. "But..."

"No, no, do not worry. We will cross that canyon when we come to it. For now, we continue with wordless magic – tomorrow, that is. And" Oromis added, "bring your sword."

Eragon nodded understanding. "Yes master." Once back out ith dragons, he climbed into her saddle and strapped the leather thongs of her saddle, "Goodbye, masters."

"Goodbye, Eragon." Oromis answered, and flicked his tail at them.

In the air, Saphira then took off, circling on an updraught before pelting towards Ellesmera.

_Why are you in such a hurry?_ He asked, leaning closer to her neck to avoid the biting wind.

_I have not hunte__d for two days and I hope to catch some deer before sunset._

_I see. _He thought for a minute, then said; _I will come with you._

_Why, little one? _She asked surprised.

_I jut want to be outside the city for while. I have been on my own, away from people, for a very long time._

_Very well. I will go straight to the borders, then._

_No – no, let me get my sword and whetstone first. _

She sent him an assent and landed on the edge of the tear-drop portal so that he could buckle on his sword and gather the whetstone from the leather pouch it had been almost undisturbed since getting Za'roc.

_Done. _He said, and she dived off the lip of the portal. Very soon, they arrived at Saphira's chosen clearing and Eragon climbed down from her saddle.

_I will meet you back here when I am full, Eragon._ And with that she stealthily took off again; he could feel her circling above him, choosing a prime hunting location.

He sat in a lower branch of a stout beech tree and drew his sword. The edges were shiny where scratches criss-crossed the blade and the weapon was not up to full standard. Eragon beat himself mentally. It was a terrible thing to do, let your knife, or even to the people of Carvahall, your scythe, go blunt., He hadn't even thought of sharpening it! He should have been, and was, ashamed of himself. Garrow, Eragon thought wryly, would not be impressed.

Smiling a little shamefacedly, Eragon took out the whetstone and proceeded to scrape at the edges of the sword. He soon fell into the long unused, but still familiar, rhythm of the stone against steel.

A short while later, Saphira entered his mind; _Eragon, I have eaten._

_Already? That was quick._

_Never underestimate a hungry dragon. _She said smugly.

_I will remember that. _

_I am coming back now, _she said, and before long, she was back in the clearing. _Eragon, _she said as he climbed into her saddle, _do you feel like something is wrong?_

Disturbed by her tone of voice, he answered uneasily, "_Wrong with what?_

_As if ... as if we are on the brink of something huge and terrible, Eragon. I feel – I feel ... _she trailed off.

_It's like we're living in the calm before the storm, _he said slowly, voicing the thought that had been hovering at the edge of his mind since the battle. _Like something bad is going to happen. _

_That is how I feel as well; of course, we know that we face dangerous times – people on both sides will fall, but that has been the case for a hundred years. Galbatorix is now considering in earnest the efforts of the Varden; he cannot deny the danger that we present. _

_You are right. The Varden are holding councils of war, the elves are getting ready to leave Du Weldenvarden. He must be as well. With Murtagh." _He added contemptuously.

_Yes, with Murtagh, _she replied, angling towards their house. _But we have not got much longer with our training, Eragon, and when we are finished, we will have to leave to fight. _

_But Oromis will die. _

_I know ... we must face the inevitable._

_But how can he wait so patiently for death!? _Eragon burst out suddenly, jumping from her saddle to stand in front of her. _I don't -_

_Ah, Eragon, but he has lived for so long now. He does not cherish life any more. He stays only for us, to pass on the knowledge of the Riders. I know that much, little one, but , oh, how it hurts..._

_Oh, Saphira..._Eragon sprang forward and hugged her neck tightly. _It hurts me too. _

Saphira curled in her curved bed and Eragon, sensing her grief and sadness, took his blankets and curled up against her warm belly. Even so, it as a long time before either of them slept.

--

Nasuada kicked at her blankets. Even though it was winter in Surda, the nights were still unbearably hot – stifling was more the word. Nasuada had always been very sensitive towards the weather; she could always tell when it was going to snow, rain, storm, shine or any other type of weather – and tonight, it was going to storm, the way the land was in a temporary lull, devoid of wind, or even a winter breeze, made it obvious.

Giving up on sleep, she stood up, trying to put a dressing-robe over her shoulders, but her skin was damp from the light the bad weather had been causing her endure, and so she gave up. In her study it was no cooler, and, casting a sour look at windows, all boarded up to keep out any would-be assassins' attempt on her life, sat down at the mahogany desk, lighting an oil-lamp to go in the bracket on her desk.

Nasuada pulled from a concealed drawer a dark wooden box, then, taking a tiny silver key from a leather cord on her neck, she carefully slipped it into the small keyhole. The box open on noiseless hinges, to reveal a contents of thin slips of paper, and a silver carving, too delicate to see in the dim light emanating from her oil-lamp.

She dug cautiously to the bottom of the pile, then extracted a small, thin book, made of a dark-green material. Fitting the key into the lock on the side, she opened the book. Inside were lines of graceful runes; not the Liduen Kvaedi, but not dwarf runes either.

Nasuada ran her fingers over the ink, remembering the familiar words and their meanings.

"_Ai–ai, chai'essa, mohannig y len," _she chanted softly, the word coming so easily it was as if she had been practising them everyday.

"_Shi'shei an amma, lerezza mae ken," _Outside, the storm was beginning, an ominous rumbling in the south.

_Aka caer'sara, lihana ond byd. _Now it had broken overhead, scaring the children of Borromeo Castle.

_Kinala mae'essa bere'la yn gyd. _

Now rain pelted on the roof, dripping down the overflowing gutters, flooding the sparse courtyards of the castle. Thunder rolled and grumbled,shaking the very heavens. Lightning flared across the sky, illuminating the winter rains; but Nasuada was oblivious to this, and recited the words to herself; They imitated that weather outside and seemed to rise and fall with the storm. Nasuada continued through the verses, reciting them as she had been taught when much smaller.

One particular flash of light woke Hepzibah, ill and feverish, in her small room.

_Oh, Rhiap preserve me, it's a storm! _Hepzibah did not like storms; they crashed around, upsetting the chickens and chambermaids alike. "Got to get out, got to get out," she muttered, fumbling with the many sheets on her bed.

"Hepzibah?" She froze; a voice, rough from sleep, spoke up on the other side of her bed. "What are you doing?"

A tall shape at her side straightened up; Hepzibah prepared to scream. "No, ssh, it's me!"

"_Orrin?!" _she said loudly and incredulously.

"That's King Orrin, to you, girl." he said severely, but she could tell he was teasing.

"What in Alagaesia are you _doing_ here?" she managed to gasp out.

"Nasuada's friend, umm, the one with red-hair ... Katrina," she giggled at his forgetfulness. "She – er told me you were here. So I decided to to ... well, come and visit you, you know, see how you are... and all that. Ahem." He coughed politely.

She laughed a little shakily. "But you're the _King-"_

"-I am well aware of that-" he interjected.

"-And you can't be seen _here-"_

"-And why not?-"

"-Because you're _King!"_ She finished, giggling at his over-exaggerated look of hurt and vexation.

"Now that we have that established," he said acidly, though he was acting, and he knew she could tell he was, "I just want to say that I hope you get well soon and I'd best – best be going now..." He stood up awkwardly. The thunder gave an extra loud crash.

Hepzibah made a grab for his hand, "No, don't go! I really don't like thunder!"

Orrin sat back down. "All right," he said cautiously, "I'll stay here then." Hepzibah clutched his hand as the lightning illuminated the turrets of the other towers outside.

"I _really _don't like storms," she muttered. Orrin patted her hand comfortingly.

"There's nothing to worry about," he said, "It's like a chemical reaction in the sky, that's all."

"A very _loud _chemical reaction," she muttered.

"It really is nothing like as scary as mixing sulphite and nitrogen together," Orrin told her.

She laughed. "Trust you to compare a storm with a chemical reaction!"

"What is so funny?!" he asked indignantly.

"Nothing – nothing really...it's just...unusual, that's all."

He frowned in mock-severity. "It seems I must remind my subjects who is the King of this country! Why, I cannot have _chambermaids _laughing at me!"

She laughed again. "I must re - what is that noise?" she said, alarmed. Hepzibah had discerned, above the wind and rain and loud thunder, a kind of music that rose fell with the storm, sometimes loud and harsh, sometimes gentle. It was eerie, and she was scared of it, yet the sound filled her full of an awful vitality.

"I expect it is nothing but the wind, Hepzibah." Orrin had heard it too, but he did not her to think he was uneasy as well – she would be even more frightened, then.

"Mm." Unconvinced, she grasped his hand tightly and pulled the covers up around her. She fell asleep quicker than she realised, comforted by the king's hand in her own work-hardened one. But as she slept, Orrin listened to the sound of the storm and the faint, foreign, music.

--

I didn't do the other POV's because there really was nothing to say.

But, to say it again, I have started other fics and updated others, though not as many as I would have liked, so bear with me – I really want to finish this because I have a suspicion that Book Three will be out in autumn 2007, and I want to have it done by then!!!!

So thank-you to ends of the worlds and back for your reviews. They really mean so much to me.


	18. Aberon

I have written a Tad Williams story (Jiriki/oc) and if anyone has read it, it would be really cool if you could spare a minute or three to read it and perhaps leave a review? Thanks very much.

And once again, I am ever so, ever so grateful to those who reviewed the last chapter. You are very lovely people!!!! Thank-you! Oh, and I finally got the spelling of 'Tel'naeir' right. Woot.

Chapter Eighteen.

Aberon.

_Well done, Saphira! _Said Glaedr, _that is all I can show you of aerial combat. All else you will have to learn yourself, along with Eragon. _

_I look forward to it,_ she growled, _and the day I will rip the Red Traitors heart out of his breast._

Glaedr's laughter rumbled through his large frame. _When you do fight him, be careful not to let anger rule you; you may make a silly mistake and lose. _

_I will remember, master. _

_Good. Let us return to our Riders, then._

The two dragons set off from the Stone of Broken Eggs and flew back towards the Crags of Tel'naeir.

--

Eragon and Oromis walked to where the dragons had just alighted ion the cliff edge, and were now awaiting them.

"Wait a moment, please, Eragon and Saphira." Eragon paused by her leg, surprised.

"What is it master?" he asked.

Oromis climbed onto Glaedr's foreleg, leaning against his dragons chest. "You and Saphira have trained harder than any rider and dragon before you. You have performed feats rarely done and mighty feats they are too. You are a remarkable dragon and rider, and I know that you both, of all that could be chosen, will lead us out of Galbatorixs' power. Be proud of who you are."

"Master, what do you mean?" said Eragon, confused as to what Oromis was telling him.

"You have both finished your training. There is no more I can teach you."

Eragon was shocked; he could say nothing. Saphira, however, was calm.

_What will we do, masters?_

_Go back to the Varden, _said Glaedr, _they need you more than we do._

"Also," put in Oromis, "We are not long in this world. We can now die in peace, knowing that we have done all we could to help towards the downfall of Galbatorix."

"How -how long do you have, master?" asked Eragon hesitantly.

"It is hard to tell. A month, maybe two. But you must go back to the Varden. There will be wars to fight, councils to hold – people to meet and family to greet."

"No, master, we won't leave you here to die. We want to be here." He felt terrible at the thought of doing so; leaving the two who had taught him so much and come to mean so much to him when they were at their weakest point.

"Eragon, you _have_ to go to the Varden. Personal feelings are irrelevant." said Oromis firmly.

Eragon clenched his jaw and stared out over the cliff, watching birds on the far side flutter from tree to tree, carefree of the worries that plagued him and Saphira. Leaving would be traitorous, something an underdog of Galbatorixs' would do.

_Eragon,_ began Saphira, but he didn't let her finish.

_What? Are you going to betray them and leave?_

_Eragon! _She scolded, _I would never betray anyone I cared for, but we would be to stay here. We are needed with the Varden, Eragon, and if we do not go then we are wasting the knowledge that Oromis and Glaedr have taught us. _

Eragon was silent, thinking. _You're right. I'm sorry Saphira, I was stupid. We leave for the Varden then?_

_We do._

_--_

The elves around Eragon and Saphira were laughing, talking, dancing and singing, enjoying the party in honour of the completion of his training. But Eragon did not join in. He did not think it a joyous event.

_Eragon, why are you so miserable? We have a good reason to celebrate – you should enjoy yourself._

_You know why. And I feel like there is little to celebrate. I think their celebrations will not be hindered by the fact that I am not joining in._

_Ah, little one, do not be so bitter. We will be gone tomorrow; this is your last night on Ellesmera for goodness knows how long. _

_I know – but I just do not feel like being happy today. _

_Suit yourself. _Saphira had found a large flask of faelnirv and was taking regulated gulps of it; she didn't want to have an aching head in the morning.

"Eragon," said a familiar voice. He turned to find himself looking at Niduen.

"Niduen. How are you?" he asked, genuinely pleased to see her.

"Well, thank-you. You know that Arya has gone back to the Varden today?" Niduen was unusual among the elves in that she did not beat around the bush.

"No, I didn't! When did she leave?"asked Eragon, surprised and grieved that she had not told him herself.

"This morning. She asked me to say goodbye to you for her."

"Why didn't she come and tell me herself?" asked Eragon indignantly.

"I think," said Niduen slowly, "that you should ask her yourself when you meet her in the Varden. And it is none of my business; I did not ask her."

Temper cooled slightly, Eragon nodded. "Will you go to war with the queen?"

Niduen smiled. "I will go with her; I do not think I will fight – I am fair enough with a bow, but I am much better at healing. And there will much need for healing before all is done."

"There will," he agreed.

"So, Eragon, why are you not celebrating?" she asked brightly.

He growled; back to that subject again. "I do not feel like it today, thank-you – and Saphira has already thoroughly questioned me on that point – I would rather it if you wouldn't either."

Niduen laughed; a very hearty sound, for an elf. "I will do as you wish, Argetlam."

"Good," he grunted. She stood and left, going towards the music, where the elven musicians were playing their delicate instruments, leaving him to stare at the bottom of his mug.

--

Eragon took one last look around his tree-house and sighed._ Will I ever see this place again?_

_I have a feeling you will, little one; but the occasion will not be happy._

_What do you mean? _He asked quickly, but she blocked her mind from him. Exasperated, he lifted his sword, belting it onto the belt of Beloth the Wise, which he had donned again for the journey; he was regularly putting measured amounts of energy into the jewels, ready in case they were ambushed on the way to the Varden. Shutting the trap-door above him, he ran down the stairs, to where Saphira was waiting for him.

_First, we go the Crags, _said Saphira firmly, and Eragon sent a mutual consent through the connection, so she launched herself into the air, quickly. Eragon could feel her emotions bubbling inside her her, and knew he must feel the same; terribly, terribly confused.

They had been to the queen already; she had given them permission to go – though she had no option – and had asked them to greet Arya for her, to which he had agreed. They were going to the Crags one last time before leaving Ellesmera.

Oromis was sitting on Glaedr's foreleg, as if he had not moved since they had left the day before.

_You are going now?_ asked Glaedr calmly.

_We are, master, _answered Saphira.

"Ah Eragon, you have been a good student. I am at peace in my mind to know that you will carry on the work of the Shurtugal." said Oromis, looking Eragon in the eye.

"Thank you master. I – I cannot say -" He began, but Oromis cut him off.

"I know, Eragon, what you are trying to say, and believe me, words are useless at a time like this."

"Yes master. Goodbye." To his right, Saphira was saying her goodbyes to Glaedr.

Oromis smiled. "Go now, young ones, and know that you have my blessing."

Eragon's eyes burned. "Goodbye master."

_We will miss you, _said Saphira, leaning down and nudging the elf on the shoulder. He smiled.

_And we will miss you as well, Saphira and Eragon. But go, quickly; the sun has risen high already. _

Eragon walked back to Saphira, feeling empty, as if this were all a dream. "I will not forget you and al you have done for us," he promised to them, clasping Oromis' hand and bowing to Glaedr. Eragon climbed back into her saddle, tying the thongs and straps to hold him in place.

Saphira took off, leaving Oromis and Glaedr behind them. Eragon's eyes blurred with tears and and Saphira's emotions tumbled through their link to him. They were both grieved; the parting had been terrible, and Ellesmera had been like a home; something he had not had for months since leaving Carvahall.

_This is awful Saphira. I feel like I'm being torn in half. _

_I know, little one. But what's done is done. And it will be good to be back with the Varden. _

_We are going to Surda?_

_Yes; Lord Dathedr informed me that they are still in Surda But...but I think they will invade the Empire soon; at the same time as the elves, I would imagine. _

_You're right. _

_I will fly as fast as I can; the sooner we get to the Varden, the better. _

_Agreed._

--

Eragon made small fire; it was a warm enough light and he didn't want to attract any attention – no that there was anyone within a hundred square miles, but there was no harm in being safe. They had just left the Silverwood and Eragon knew they would soon be in Surda.

_Do you know which city they are in?_

_No; but I am think we should go straight to Aberon. If Nasuada isn't there, we can get directions and be able to get to wherever they are in good time; if they are there, well, all the better._

_Good idea. Won't it be good to see Roran, Katrina...everyone again?_

_It will. I think they will be glad to see you as well. _

_I should hope so! _Said Eragon, and Saphira laughed quietly.

_Sleep well, little one._

_You too, Saphira. _

Saphira and Eragon slept deeply, not noticing the young fox that edged it's way to them, before noticing Saphira, or the wolf-spider that spun a web between her claws. They were both fast asleep.

--

It was sunset when they arrived in Aberon city. The castle was a strong, bulky building, built with the sole purpose of keeping people _in _and possible invading armies _out. _

_I hope that Nasuada is **here.**_ _I'm too tired to go much further. _Said Saphira, breath laboured.

_We will stay here, whether she is or not, _promised Eragon. _But I hope she is as well. _

Saphira flew toward the battlements; Eragon's keen ears could hear shouts of alarm, but he knew they wouldn't attack him – Saphira's blue scales were all too obvious in the red sun.

She landed in a courtyard very close to the main part of thy castle; almost immediately a crowd of people began streaming out of the doors that led into the courtyard. He saw numerous maids; a few guards and, forcing his way through all the people, was King Orrin's seneschal, Dahwar. The dark man stood before Eragon and bowed low.

"Greetings Shadeslayer. We meet again." He smiled faintly. "I have just sent messengers to Lady Nasuada and King Orrin. They will be here soon. In the meantime – is the anything I can get you both?"

"No, thank-you, Dahwar, though it is good of you. We have just eaten." If Dahwar was wondering what exactly that meant, he did not show his curiosity.

"Very good. Ah, here is the Lady Nasuada. If you will excuse me." Dahwar melted back into the crowd, ready to be called when needed.

Nasuada, in a light green hunting dress, was very cool and collected; but he could tell she was burning with curiosity as well.

"Eragon!" she cried as she neared. "What are you doing here?!"

He smiled. "We have finished our training, my Lady."

"That's excellent news!" she exclaimed, then darted a look around the noisy crowd. "Shall we go inside? I'm afraid Aberon castle was not made for dragons, Saphira – but there is another courtyard near my study – would you wait there?"

_Certainly,_she replied, _but what where will I live from now on?_

Nasuada looked unhappy. "You will have to sleep outdoors I'm afraid, Saphira, but we will do what we can to make you comfortable; it hardly rains here – something I notice all too often," she added ruefully.

He could feel her flying over the castle and he felt her settle in the courtyard. _That will suffice. Thank-you, Nasuada,_ said Saphira

"We have plenty of rooms for you to sleep in," she told Eragon as they walked, "but I still don't understand what you are doing here!"

"Perhaps we had better tell you somewhere more private, my Lady." he said, looking at the extraordinary amount of maids and guards that were in the corridors.

"Well, this is my study, and as private a place there is," she said smiling. "Go in."

He entered the room. It was all wood, but light wood, soft and insubstantial; nothing like her study in Tronjheim. "Sit down," she said, and pointed to a chair with soft leather backing.

"So, Eragon, tell me why you are here."

"We finished out training, my Lady, and our...teacher told us that we would be more use here than in Ellesmera."

She blinked at this simple explanation. "Well, we **do **need you. We are planning to invade the Empire very soon – in fact, all the battalions are getting ready to leave: the Varden have never planned to do any more so daring before – unless, it was, of course, stealing Saphira's egg." There was a slight hint of pride in her voice she spoke of the Varden.

"You are brave, Nasuada. I do not think the Varden could have better leader."

It was impossible to tell, with her dark skin, if she was blushing, but she allowed herself a small smile at his compliment. "Incidentally," she said, "I am sure Roran and Katrina would like to see you." She looked at his tired face, then added; "or perhaps greetings should be left for tomorrow." He smiled gratefully. "A room is being made up as we speak. We will erect tarpaulins and a shelter for Saphira, but I hope she won't need it."

"_Thank_-you Nasuada," he said in very heartfelt voice. "We travelled fast coming here."

"I thought so," she smiled. "Hepzibah will take you to your room." She rang a bell, and presently a well-padded maid, dark curly hair escaping her starched bonnet, entered the room, looking nervous and smoothing her skirt.

"Hepzibah, please take Eragon to his room; he is in the far one to the end of the Corridor."

Eragon wondered what this Corridor was, but the maid seemed to know what Nasuada meant, so Eragon took his leave of Nasuada and followed the girl; she was a lot shorter than him, but he liked her face; very honest and happy.

She was still nervous, but as he did not erupt inflames or fly down the corridors next to her, she relaxed a little.

They reached strong door; oak studded with black iron bolts, with numerous bolts crossing it.

"This is where all the import'nt people in the Varden stay," she said, "even Lady Nasuada."

"Ah," he said. She knocked on the door and a voice called in a rapid torrent of words.

"Be true of heart and of steadfast resolve?"

"My heart is true and my resolve is of iron," answered Hepzibah glibly, and the door swung open ponderously on heavy hinges.

They passed through. Eragon saw a soldier wearing a surcoat of the Varden; a white dragon holding a rose. He nodded to the man; he gurgled in surprise and nodded back as well.

Hepzibah led him down a plain corridor. It was hung with few tapestries or decorations. Doors much like the first one were all down both side of the corridor, though they met no one.

"This is yours," Hepzibah said humbly, then opened the door, handing him a key from her pinafore pocket. "'Bye," she gasped out.

"Goodbye, Hepzibah," he said courteously. She dropped a curtsey and shot off.

Smiling a little, he unlocked the door and went in. The room was medium sized; a four-poster, such a Eragon had never seen likes of, dominated the centre of the room. Next to the bed, a screen made a washing area and a small door led off to what Eragon guessed to be the privy. A comfortable chair and a small, (and relatively empty) bookcase all sat by the happily flickering fire.

Eragon immediately went to the bed, stowing his pack in the corner. Her was too tired to think of much, and quickly undressed.

Safely covered in the many quilts, rugs and blankets, Eragon felt sleep coming on him swiftly.

_Are you comfortable, Saphira? _He asked anxiously, knowing she was in the courtyard outside.

_Reasonably. I have a bed and blankets and someone brought a bowl of water. You?_

_The room is nice. It has a fire and four-poster bed, Saphira! And I prefer it to Tronjheim...it's a bit more...normal, I suppose; it has ascreen for washing in and I have no doubt that the mattress is made out of carefully collected down. Much more like home._

He could tell she was laughing._ I am glad you like it, little one. Sleep well._

_I certainly will, _he assured her before falling heavily and blissfully asleep.

--

There we are! I told you I had a plot --D:) Please review!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It's all I want! Thank-you.


	19. A New Errand

Thank-you again for all the reviews! It's really kind of you. Thank-you.

Chapter Nineteen.

A New Errand.

Eragon splashed the cold water on his face and stood up, reaching for the towel blindly.

_Eragon, I thought you might want to know that Roran and Katrina are one their way to see you now. _

_What!? But it's too early!_

_No time is too early for a soldier...especially not at nine o'clock in the morning. _

_Nine! Why didn't you wake me?_

_I have only just woken myself. _

_Well, at least that makes two of us. _

_You should probably get dressed; Katrina is coming with him, you know – I do not think Roran would appreciate that particular situation. _

_How tactful of you. _Grumbled Eragon as he pulled a shirt over his head.

_I realise that, _she replied smartly.

He grunted and closed their link; he wasn't in the mood for talking; uninterrupted sleep was more appealing to him just then – which of course, was not going to happen, for at that moment, a bang on the locked door sounded through the room.

"Come in!" he called.

"How, Eragon, do you expect us to come in when the door is locked?" asked Roran's slightly muffled voice.

"Ah. Sorry." He opened the door to find both Roran and Katrina standing outside.

"Good morning."

Roran rolled his eyes and grabbed Eragon in a bear hug. "It's good to see you again, Brother!"

"And you!" said Eragon, turning to Katrina. "Good morning, my lady."

She laughed. "There's only one lady in Surda and that is Nasuada. But I'm glad you're back, Eragon!" She stepped forward and hugged him as well, then kissed him on both cheeks.

"So,why are you back? You didn't let us know you were coming!" said Roran, "Katrina was in a frenzy getting your room ready."

Eragon looked at her in surprise. "You got my room ready?"

"Me and Hepzibah both." she answered, but Roran added:

"Katrina has taken control of the Varden Corridor. She supervises the maids, consults Nasuada...and generally annoys Clara no end!"

"Who is Clara?"

Katrina made a face. "She's the Mistress of the Chambermaids. A very dour old woman. But anyway; why have you come back? Wait, you can tell us on the way to to the mess."

"Well, I've finished my training and so here we are; where we are needed," he said a little bitterly, still regretting that he had left Oromis behind.

"You **are** needed," said Roran. "We will invade the Empire very soon. A dragon and Rider will be very welcome."

"Soon?" asked Eragon dismayed.

Roran nodded. "We have recently received a dove from Ellesmera, telling us when they plan to attack what cities – it also said that Arya will be arriving at any time."

Roran didn't seem to notice how Eragon started at her name, or the way his face saddened; it was nearly inconspicuous. Katrina, however, did:

"When is she expected?" he asked with a little too little interest.

He frowned. "We don't know. She has to pass the Hardarac Desert, the Beor mountains and then through half of Surda before she gets here, to Aberon. It is a long way to come, even on horseback."

Now Eragon frowned. "Will she be all right?"

Roran shrugged. "How do we know? We can't. She is not at all helpless – and she may have an elven guard with her – though Nasuada tells me she only had two, even when she was carrying Saphira's egg."

This left Eragon with an uneasy feeling. "How have you both been?" he said changing the subject.

"The ride here was like nothing I have ever experienced," laughed Katrina. "Nor have I ever ridden a horse for so long. But the Urgals...it was strange living and travelling with them...with the monsters whose relative is sitting on Morn's tavern!"

Eragon laughed as well, ignoring the twinge that came with the mention of Morn's tavern. "They aren't Urgals, they are Kull. And The are nothing **like **Urgals."

Katrina was surprised. "The Kull are just bigger versions of Urgals! How different can they be?!"

"Oh, very different: for one thing, they have a sense of honour and hierarchy: For another, they never break any vows they make. They also hate Galbatorix as much as we do."

Katrina shook her head. "I still cannot get used to it. I don't like them and that is all I will say."

They were approaching a room that was filled with loud voices; the sounds of kitchen utensils and, which was most welcome to Eragon, the smell of food. "The mess." said Roran. "This is where the army eats; the barracks are to the left."

"In the castle?" said Eragon, raising and eyebrow.

"We felt it was safer – they would be closer to the royal kitchens, anyway. Still, the household crew do not come in here – only Katrina."

Katrina smiled. "I spend so much time here, that they all know me – and I am the only woman who comes here."

They approached the tables where the cooks were serving food. Few people noticed that he was the Shadeslayer; he was not so noticeable without Saphira, but there were many respectful greetings of 'Stronghammer', a few 'Roran's', and many 'my Lady's' from the soldiers. Eragon liked what he saw in the soldiers; they were all strong, tough men, willing to die for their cause. Many had previously been only village carpenters or blacksmiths or farmers.

Roran collected three trays from the busy cooks and led them over to a table that was crowded. Crowded with people Eragon knew well...

"Horst!" cried Roran and fought his way over to sit down next to the broad smith. The man stood and clapped Roran on the back, moving his sons out if the way so that Roran could sit down. Horst looked past Roran at Eragon; Katrina had already sat down and was conversing happily with Albriech and Baldor.

"Eragon?" he asked suspiciously.

"Aye, it is me," he answered cautiously. Was Horst going to be angry? But no; the smith hugged Eragon bearlike and offered him a seat.

"Is everyone here?" asked Eragon, seeing Fisk, Morn and others along the table.

"Oh, yes," Horst assured him. He seemed to be having trouble sitting still; Roran noticed.

"Is something wrong, Horst?" asked Roran.

"Yes – no – it's Elaine!" he burst out, "She's just gone into labour!"

Roran stared at him. "Well, what are you doing here, then? Go and find her!"

Horst gaped, then grinned in thanks. He beckoned his sons, who jumped, looking nearly as nervous as their father and followed him, muttering, "Thanks Roran" to him on their way past.

"Excellent." said Katrina in satisfaction. "She's one week late as it is. I have consulted Angela; perhaps she helped."

"Angela? Is she here?" asked Eragon.

"Oh, do you know her? Yes, she is," said Katrina,"and she had been very helpful – that cat of hers too."

Eragon smiled at the thought of what Solembum would say at being called a 'cat'. "Does she have small child with her? A girl?"

"Oh" said Katrina, looking surprised; "yes, she does. Elva, her name is, isn't it?"

Eragon nodded absently. He would visit them soon – though he hoped Angela wasn't annoyed at him for something else. "Do you know where they are?"

Katrina laughed. "Goodness, no. They could be in half-a-dozen places all over the castle! But Nasuada will know. If you are ready, you should go and see her now."

"I am," he said.

"Good. I have to go and sort out some of the lower chambers; would you wait for Hepzibah? She will meet you outside the mess."

Eragon followed her out; Roran was staying with his men, ready to start training very soon.

"I am very sorry about this,Eragon," said Katrina, "I am not being a good hostess. Are you sure you don't mind?"

"Of course not!" he said indignantly.

Katrina hovered, unsure. "But you are the Shadeslayer...I..."

"Katrina," he interrupted. "I am not so changed that I demand everything that royalty should have! I am quite capable of finding Nasuada's study myself."

She looked relieved. "Ah, these fancy ways have changed both Roran and me, Eragon. But I'm glad you haven't. Nasuada's study is up that corridor and to the left. I will see you later."

He said goodbye and they parted, he thinking about Katrina. She was so different and the way she commanded the maids and such was amazing – also, they all seemed to like her. He thought she was mad for this sort of thing.

He stopped. Nasuada's door was guarded by two Kull. The let him in straight away.

Nasuada was sitting in an armchair, staring at a piece of parchment. She looked up when Eragon entered.

"Ah, Eragon, I was just going to send someone to find you. Is everything all right?"

"Yes, thank-you, my Lady. What did you want me for?"

She gestured for him to sit down and he did so. "We have decided that we will invade the Empire by this time next week; the men are ready; the healers are as well trained as is possible; the elves are also on the move. We cannot, however, start without Arya."

She paused, letting her words sink in. "I would like you and Saphira to find her and bring her back here as soon as possible. We **do** need her."

Taken aback, Eragon answered; "Of course we will. When would you like us to go?"

"Tomorrow morning, I think. That will give Saphira a chance to regain her energy."

"Yes my Lady."

_Do you have any idea where she is? _Asked Saphira.

"She has come through Tarnag – as the dwarf magicians told us while we were communicating last night."

_So we will not have to go as far as the Hardarac Desert. _

"No, thankfully, of we'd exhaust you both before even leaving Surda."

"You seem to be doing your best to, anyway," pointed out Eragon, smiling.

"We don't seem to have tried to hard enough," said Nasuada amused. "Now, what will you do for the rest of today?"

Eragon shrugged. "Perhaps visit the training fields – or we may go for a flight.

"Very well. Try and set off as early as you can," said Nasuada. "The sooner you start, the sooner you will return – with Arya, I hope.

"Yes my Lady."

"Good. You are dismissed."

Eragon turned and left, leave Nasuada still reading the piece of parchment.

_So, little one, off again._

_Off again, _agreed Eragon. _Where are you? _

_Come through a door to the left of the canteen. It is a nice sunny courtyard. _

_Good. _

It was indeed a nice place; tall cedar trees gave shade and there was a water fountain n the middle. Saphira was curled up in a bed of blankets and cushions, watching him intently.

_What is wrong, little one? You seem subdued. _

_I suppose it is just hard to believe we are going to fight the Empire for real now. And it will be very...awkward, I suppose, to go and find Arya then tell her we have been sent to 'bring her back' like an errant child._

_Well, don't say that then. She will come, of course she will! It is the best way. Don't worry so much._

_Very comforting, Saphira._

_Oh, Eragon, cheer up. I am going to stretch my wings; are you coming?_

--

There we are and an update! I hope you enjoyed and please review I'm going away all day tomorrow and the night as well, so I won't be able to reply to the review until Sunday, so thank-you in advance!!!


	20. Beasts of the Beors

Shockhorrorgasp! Can you believe this is chapter twenty??!! Woot!

It's not mine; Don't try to sue me, I would relish the fight.

Chapter Twenty.

Beasts of the Beors.

_There are hundreds of square miles between here and Tarnag; _said Eragon tersely, _and we have only a few days to find her. _

_I know, little one. But you also know why we are going._

_I do. _He replied, _but we will have to be fast. _

_Hurry up, then, _she urged him, and he tied the slip-knot of the leg straps on the saddle, and they were off; below them, Katrina, Roran and Nasuada all watched from a window, not wanting to draw attention to the fact that Argetlam was leaving, in case it demoralised the men, though, as they left the castle behind, a white sheet fluttered from the window in farewell.

_Katrina..._thought Eragon, grinning. _Did you see enough of that map? _He asked Saphira.

_Oh yes, _she replied, _Arya must be somewhere near Farthen Dur, though none of the dwarven scouts have seen her and she has not entered Tronjheim. We will find her easily, Eragon. _

_Mm. _Eragon watched the yellow-brown Surdan countryside skim along beneath them. They had been ready by the early morning and were ready to go; however, things were never that easy and they had finally been _completely_ ready to go about two hours later.

_Saphira, _he began, but himself unable to voice his thoughts. _What do you – I mean, we're going to be fighting again soon. _

_If you are wondering if I care, then the answer is no. I find it a pleasure to kill those who have destroyed my race. _

_Not all of them did, though. Not the humans that have been conscripted to his army. _

_No, little one, but they work for him and would destroy the Varden and us as well if they were told, they all have to be fought to defeat the King. _

_Ah, I know, Saphira. I know what we must do and I will do it. It doesn't bother me._

_Only Murtagh and Galbatorix can stand up to us the whole of Alagaesia now, Eragon. We will prevail in battle as easily as crushing an insect._

_But Murtagh and Galbatorix are the ones that matter. _

_Be that as it may, we still have to get to them, and that is why the Varden are invading. _

_Thank-you for explaining, Saphira, but I had reached that conclusion by myself. _

She laughed, smoke roiling from her nostrils and did a fast back-flip. _Our education must have paid off, little one, if you can work such things out on your own. _

_Well, someone far stupider than me would have prospered under Oromis._

Saphira was silent for a moment, then said solemnly, _Eragon, when Oromis and Glaedr die, we will be the last of our race._

Eragon shivered, in spite of the hot Surdan sun. _That is a daunting thought. _

_It is. Ah, we are nearly at the borders of Surda._

_How far do you think we will be able to go? _

_If you sleep while I fly, I can get us to at least Tarnag before I have to rest. _

_You never cease to amaze me, Saphira; Glaedr has taught you to perfection as well. _She dipped her wings slightly, but seemed pleased at the compliment.

_We will be able to search for Arya in the dark as well, your new abilities will help considerably. _

_Yes; if we do find her before dark, would you stop for a rest? We could get back to Surda almost as quickly and you would find it easier to fly faster as well._

_That is a good idea. Be watchful; Arya could be anywhere along the mountains. _

Eragon, finding it easy to see as Saphira skimmed at a level easy to spy out the land in below, kept a careful watch on the mountain floor, but neither dragon nor Rider saw any sign of the elf.

--

The dusk was coming and they were, as Saphira had said, approaching the Beartooth river. Swollen from the winter rains that had been non-existent in Surda, the river was audible even from Saphira's back.

_Eragon, she is not camped near the river. _She said, after they had covered the area thoroughly.

_I'm not surprised! No one think, let alone sleep with this racket going on!_

She chuckled a little._ True, little one. I think I can fly to past Tronjheim at least. But if Arya isn't there ... Orik was right about the punctuality of elves. _Saphira was tired and had not eaten a proper meal for a while. Consequently, she was a little snappy.

_It's not her fault! She doesn't have dragon to ride all over Alagaesia._

Saphira snorted at this, but didn't answer.

The night drew on; wolves could be heard howling from ridges; night birds called from the trees and an all-pervading dampness was settling on everything, including Eragon and Saphira; it was soaking his clothes, slowly but surely, and he was getting uncomfortable.

_Saphira, are you sure you can carry on? It would be a welcome thing to stop and sleep for a little while. _

_I can manage, little one. Sleep, if you want. _

_No, I won't let do all the work. _

_Thank-you, _she said softly. They lapsed into peaceful silence, Eragon still searching the ground.

--

The moon had risen to its zenith and Eragon and Saphira felt as if they couldn't carry on a moment longer, when Eragon saw something.

_Saphira, there is a campfire down there. _He said, surprised at how calm his voice came out.

_Ah, yes, I see it. There is chance it isn't Arya, Eragon, so I will land as far away as I can. _

She did indeed land quite far away from the fire. Eragon got off her, casting a few wards on both of them in case the person that owned the fire was an enemy.

Eragon crept closer, then stopped when he could see the fire. There was a pack near a long, humped shape near the fire. Eragon, reaching out his mind, could tell that Arya was in a deep slumber.

He, unsure as to what would happen and full of trepidation, decided to wake her gently.

Kneeling by her side, he shook her shoulder, shielding any thoughts on her beauty. She stirred a little, then her eyes opened a little bit.

"Arya!" he whispered. She immediately snapped open her eyes and sat up, reaching for her weapons, but he caught her wrist.

"Arya, it's me."

Her eyes opened wide. "Eragon? What? But that – that's impossible!"

He felt almost guilty at catching her in such a vulnerable way. "Nasuada sent me to find you." He stood up, businesslike. "The Varden are going to invade the Empire in a week or less; we need you."

Arya, deciding he was too convincing to be a trick from the Empire, cursed fluently."Barzul! I should have set off earlier from Ellesmera, but the queen and Niduen wanted me to stay." Glancing around, she asked, "Where is Saphira?"

"We landed further away in case you were an enemy. She's just over the ridge."

Arya nodded and, to Eragon's eye, got out of her bedroll rather reluctantly. She was in her normal clothes and a linen shirt. She froze as a thought occurred to her. "Eragon, how long have you been flying?"

"Since this morning," said Eragon, "or rather, yesterday morning, as it is now."

"You must both be exhausted. Wouldn't it be better if we all stayed here for a while?"

Eragon smiled; Arya could see his tiredness showing through. "That's an excellent idea. I will ask her."

_Saphira, Arya wants to know if you w- _He stopped as Saphira cut him off.

_I know what she said; I was listening in. Tell her I would be delighted and will be there shortly. _Saphira, also tired, was not in a mood to bandy words.

"She say she would be delighted and will be here shortly." Eragon relayed back to Arya, who nodded.

"How long can we sleep?" she asked.

"I don't know. As long as we can, I suppose."

"So I can go back to bed? I won't be needed?" she said. Eragon was slightly surprised and little amused at how much Arya seemed to love her sleep.

"Not unless something goes wrong; but Saphira and I are very tired; we might sleep for a long time," he warned.

She shook her head, thoughts clearly still with her warm bed. "I'll be awake at a fairly respectable time; don't worry, I'll wake you then."

"Thank-you." It was at that moment that Saphira arrived. She fixed Arya with a sapphire-blue eye.

_We have searched long for you, Arya._

_I realise that, Bjartskular, and I thank you and admire your resilience. _

Saphira was satisfied at that. _You are welcome, small one._

Arya stared at the name Saphira had given her, surprised. _Goodnight, Saphira. _She said quietly. "Goodnight, Eragon, sleep well."

"And you, Arya," he smiled.

Arya turned back to her bedroll and curled up in it, green eyes reflected in the dying embers of the fire. "Where will you sleep?" She said sudden;y.

"With Saphira," he answered simply. Arya watched the dragon curl up near Arya, whereupon Eragon sat against her stomach.

Saphira lifted her wing over Eragon, and Arya lost sight of him. She snuggled deeper into her bed; she loved her sleep. People didn't realise it because she was always up early and she seemed to sleep lightly. However, when she was able to sleep, she made the best of it.

Eragon slept against Saphira's belly; the floor was hard and cold and he could feel the frost creeping through the ground and chilling his bones.

Arya thought idly, before she fell asleep, that she pitied anyone outside on this type of night without proper equipment. That jerked her wake. Eragon had nothing! She chewed her lip, wondering whether to wake him to give him some of her spare blankets; in the end, she decided to.

She once more got out from her blankets and pulled a took a few she didn't need over to where dragon and Rider were sleeping. "Eragon? She said loudly. Saphira idly moved her wing at the sound of Arya's voice, letting her see Eragon. He was sitting up against her belly, on the floor. Arya woke him up quickly, not liking the cold.

"Eragon, wake up, I've brought you some blankets." He had only just fallen asleep,and so woke easily.

"Arya? What's wrong?" Arya saw that he held none of the adoration he once had in his eyes, only a hard awareness of duty.

"I've brought you some blankets, Eragon; I thought you must be cold, against the ground like that."

"Oh." He moved and winced. "Thank-you very much, Arya." She could tell he meant it.

"_Croeso ono. _Sleep well, Alfakyn."

"Thank-you." Confused Eragon watched Arya walk back to her bed. She seemed much more relaxed and carefree and willing to talk; perhaps it only happened when she was woken at midnight by a dragon and Rider. But she was much easier to be around her when she was this way; Eragon shrugged and wrapped himself in her blankets. They were very welcome that night.

--

_Eragon wake up. _Said Saphira, her voice tinged with urgency.

_What's happening? _He asked, awake at once.

_Arya had spotted a pack of Nagra in a nearby valley. We have to go now. _

He sent her an affirmative and stood up, looking around. There was no sign of Arya, but Saphira told him she was still scouting. Ignoring his worry, he picked up Saphira's saddle and started strapping it to her belly. By the time he was done, Arya had arrived.

"They are very close now; they have adolescents as well, it is a family pack."

Eragon cursed under his breath in a mixture of the many languages he had recently learnt, and slung the saddlebags over Saphira's massive shoulders. "We are ready."

Arya nodded, making sure the fire was out and the ashes cold. "So am I." Se swung up into Saphira's saddle without further ado as easily as Eragon himself. He followed her up and, without exchanging a word, the two began to strap the leather thongs around their legs, Eragon using the arm straps, Arya the leg straps.

Saphira too off immediately, sensing the Nagra herd nearby, and circled once before catching an updraught and aiming for that pass between two large mountains. When Eragon looked back, he could see massive, long shapes, heads lower than their necks, tusks visible even from their great height. Eragon went cold at thought of their small company encountering the Nagra.

_When are the Varden going to invade, then? _Asked Arya.

_By the end of the week. _

She was silent for a moment, then said, _Roran is leading his regiment, is he not?_

_He is. _Eragon sighed. _I do not worry for him in battle; he is exceedingly strong and makes and excellent commander, but I worry about Carvahall. Horst, Albriech, Baldor, Fisk and even old Morn are fighting with him, but I wish they weren't._

_I was there when they swore their oaths to the Varden; they seem like strong and brave men. _

Eragon chuckled at that. _Horst is like a bear, and as strong as one as well. Horsts' wife, Elaine, has just given birth to their third child; I would hate to tell her that her husband is dead. _

_You may not have to. _Arya could say little else; she had never had fighting relatives since her father died.

_Perhaps. _

_Eragon, Arya, the Beartooth River is in sight now. _Said Saphira, than added, in a puzzled tone, _There are Nagra there as well!_

_What? _Said Arya sharply. _That is wrong; they should be further away, in the warmer regions of the mountains, or at least in better hunting ground. _

_I didn't learn of the habits of the Nagra,_ said Eragon. _What is wrong?_

_Nothing really, _said Arya, but she still seemed a little perplexed. _It's just unusual. Do you want to have rest? _She asked Saphira, changing the subject.

_I can carry on a little further. We should at least get well away from the Nagra herd; they travel fast when they need to. _

_Agreed._

_--_

They had passed Farthen Dur and the sun was slowly climbing back down the sky when a shrieking cry echoed of the mountains.

"What is it?!" cried Eragon to Arya over the wind.

"A Fanghur!" she shouted back. "More than one!"

Eragon cursed. "Hellfire!" He knew his weapons were useless, and so prepared to use magic.

_Little one, hold on tight, and Arya as well; I cannot fight it with both of you without proper straps. _

Arya heard and wrapped one arm tight around Eragon, the other ready to use magic. As she looked behind her, she saw three muddy brown shapes emerging from a ridge.

"Three!" she shouted, "There are three of them! It's a full hunting pack!"

Eragon cursed again and she felt his muscles tense. _Saphira, if we cannot lose them ..."_

_I have a plan, Eragon. Hold tight, both of you, and I will try to lose them._

Eragon held tight to the saddle, and Arya to Eragon. Saphira swerved left, dipping into a valley, before once more circling on an updraught. She performed more and more complicated aerobatics, but whatever she did, the Fanghur kept coming, screeching their terrible cries until both Arya and Eragon felt as if their eardrums might burst.

Saphira also was effected. Her ears were filled with a fogging mist, and her eyes became unfocused. _Eragon, we will have to go **up.** _

Arya could make neither head nor tail of this, but Eragon understood. _Arya, this will feel terrible, but the Fanghur cannot follow us where we are going. _

_Where is that? _She asked, keeping worry and fear from her voice.

_**Up. **_Answered Eragon simply, but powerfully. Saphira started to climb rapidly; when she was level with the parts of the mountains that were covered in snow, Arya began to feel light-headed.

_What is happening ...? _she thought fuzzily, not liking the way her mind felt; she wasn't in control. Eragon, in front of her, was leaning in the saddle; Saphira's breathing was laboured. Arya saw the ground a long way below and held onto Eragon tighter.

Now there was no undergrowth at all on the mountains; Arya felt as if she was going to lose consciousness. _I can't ... Fanghur ... _she thought blearily. Eragon was breathing very heavily; Saphira's wing-beats were slow and laborious.

In the distance, one last shrieking cry echoed in the distance. Saphira descended rapidly; the air beat in Arya's ears but, Arya's vision was slowly becoming blacker. She lost consciousness before Saphira pulled out of her dive.

--

_She'll wake soon. We will have to leave as soon as she is ready to travel again. _

_I know, Saphira, but I would like to eat something. _

She grinned. _Well, that deer has sufficed for me, but if you will eat like the elves, then there is enough in the saddlebags to last you both until we get back to Surda – but Arya is waking now._

Eragon looked over to where they had spread her bedroll. Arya was indeed stirring, long lashes fluttering, before she tried to sit up, whereupon she swayed and lay back down.

"What happened to the Fanghur?" she asked. Eragon was amazed at her quick recovery, even though she was not yet sitting up; Eragon guessed that her sight was still spinning.

"They followed us further than we expected; they are more used to low altitude here. But they gave up eventually. We were descending when you lost consciousness."

Arya tried to nod, but she still felt queasy, so she settled for a quiet, "oh."

"When you feel stronger, we should move on. Saphira has eaten and I was just going to have some," he gestured to a cloth bag in his hand. He gave it to her. She took them out and gratefully started eating them, but slowly; she didn't feel quite right.

Arya felt better in a little while and they were soon in the sky again. As they got close to Surda, the air started getting hotter and drier. Eragon sighed at the thought of the hot air and piercing sun of Surda; it really wasn't the country's best feature.

_We are flying over the Barati Harbour now._

_Good! _Said Eragon fervently. Arya was asleep, tired still.

Saphira chuckled. _We'll be off again nearly straight away,_ she warned.

_I know that, but at least there'll be enough food and no beasts of the Beor Mountains. _

_I have been wondering about that, _said Saphira, _why would they target us like that? _

_I don't know; Arya knows more than I do. _

_Yes, I will ask her, if I remember. You can sleep for a little while now, Eragon. There is no danger now. _

_I might, but I don't trust these arm-straps to keep me in place. _

_If you say so, little one, but I can tell you are tired. _

_As are you. _

_Well, we can both enjoy a full sleep when we get back to Aberon. _

_I cannot wait. _

_--_

Aberon's banners fluttered in an unusual breeze. The yellow of the cavalry and purple-and-white of the Varden flew from the battlements. Eragon touched Arya's mind briefly to wake her.

_We are in Aberon, _he said. She yawned and looked around.

"Good," she said aloud over the wind. "I want to sleep."

Eragon was slightly perplexed. She was so relaxed and free and was talking freely in a frank way; it was as if the Arya most people knew had fallen away. _Very strange,_ he thought.

Saphira landed in the courtyard she had slept in previously and stopped, careful not crush the exotic ferns that were a novelty in Surda, as there wasn't enough water for them normally. Eragon climbed down, Arya after him, and they stood silent for a minute.

"We need to go and see Nasuada," said Arya eventually. He nodded and they began the walk through the long, cool corridors of the castle. Guards sprang to life, saluting and stiffening their weapons; servants turned and stared; maids stopped and giggled. Eragon found it rather disconcerting; Arya, however, seemed to have returned to her normal aristocratic self and took it all in her stride.

Nasuada's study was heavily guarded. The captain of the group announced Eragon and Arya's arrival, whereupon the door was opened quickly and they were ushered inside by the curly-haired maid he remembered from his first day in Aberon.

Nasuada was sitting at her desk, surrounded by papers and a very sharp looking knife. "Eragon, Arya! You have come back sooner than we expected!"

"We flew for long intervals, my Lady."

"How is Saphira?" she asked, concerned.

"Tired, but she has eaten recently."

Nasuada nodded and turned to Arya. "How was the journey?"

Arya answered, emotionless. "Eragon and Saphira found me near Tarnag; we slept in my camp for while, but I detected a herd of Nagra nearby, so we left immediately." Nasuada frowned, but let Arya continue. "We had been flying for a while – it was late afternoon, when the Fanghur attacked us." this time Nasuada did interrupt.

"Fanghur? At this time of year? Something is wrong."

Arya nodded. "I agree. Saphira tried to throw them off, but there was a whole hunting pack so ..." she stopped to let Eragon continue.

"Saphira and I, when we were coming to the Varden the first time, with Arya and Murtagh -" Nasuada did not flinch at his name, "We tried to go up, but the air became thin and I passed out and Saphira nearly did as well. In this instance, we knew we could not get rid of them, so we went up; they stood it for longer than we thought they would, but in the end, when we kept climbing, the three of them gave up. After that, we stopped for a rest. Since then, we have been flying none-stop."

Eragon finished and Nasuada looked thoughtful, but relieved. "Well, I am glad you came back without injury. We are now ready; all battalions ready to go. We leave tomorrow. Now," she said, reaching into her desk and extracting a map and spread it on the table. "We will go from here down through Lithgow to Cithri; it will take weeks at the most, just to get through Surda.

"When we get to the Empire, the first town we will capture will be Melian. We will capture it, but leave few men there; the Empire will not be able to recapture it, nor would they want to. It has few resources and is mainly a farming town. From Melian we go to Belatona. It does have some forms of defence, but not enough to halt us for long. That leaves us with Dras Leona. Various people have told me of it, but I want to know what you thought of it, Eragon, when you visited it with Brom.

"Dras Leona is a foul place." said Eragon decidedly. "There is a yellow wall around the outer town that would not keep a child out. Inside the walls, deformed beggars plead for money and food, and starving children fight for whatever they can find." He made a disgusted face. "The governor has flourished under Galbatorixs' rule, though," he was vaguely satisfied at the memory, "he became very greedy and forgot to pay his king the right amount of taxes,and so Galbatorix taught him a lesson."

Nasuada raised an eyebrow. "Do you think he will hold out under our siege?"

He shrugged. "I cannot know. I have never met him, but he is rumoured to be greedy and cowardly. But I think you would be best off just to depose him and leave him rot in a gaol somewhere. But a quarter of the Vardens' army could defeat the town itself. It has virtually no defences."

Nasuada nodded again, thinking hard. "Good. That would give us a chance to try and capture Feinster. It would not do to give the Empire a port-town to fight from, as it is on our flank. Right," she clapped her hands once. "I am very happy to see you both back safe and well. Arya, your room had been made up and Eragon, your room is as you left it. The guards will let you through."

Eragon smiled warmly. "It is good to see you as well, my Lady." Nasuada smiled back, a smile of good-comradeship.

"That is true for me as well; Sleep well."

He returned the phrase and Arya murmured goodnight as well. Outside, Eragon was pleased to see, the guards were fully awake and alert. He nodded to them and they also acknowledged him. Arya was silent, but he was not surprised. She had returned to her normal, seemingly unemotional self, and was thinking deeply: he was glad when they reached their rooms.

"Goodnight Arya," he said courteously.

"Sleep well," she returned, then paused and turned back to him before he could walk away. "Thank-you for coming to find me, Eragon, you and Saphira.

"You are welcome, Arya," he said, startled. She nodded in recognition of the remark and let the ghost of a smile play in her lips.

"As I said, sleep well." She went into her without further ado. Eragon carried on towards his room, mind a little numb.

He had managed, after spending do much time with the elves, to not show his feelings for Arya; however, they were as strong as ever. He did not want to lose her friendship, as he valued it highly, and so he carefully constructed a barrier between his love for Arya and her.

She would think he got over her, like she had been just a passing fancy, but it wasn't true. He loved so much that, sometimes, it hurt. But she would never know. _Ever,_ he promised himself, if that was what she wanted.

Eragon's room was just as he had left it, and so he thankfully crawled under the covers, relishing the comfort. He was so tired, he did not even talk to Saphira before falling asleep amongst the many comfy pillows and warm blankets. All three travellers slept as the dead that night.

--

HAHAHA an update!!!! We're off to invade the Empire, la-la-la-la-la hey, i'm officially crazy! Well done me ... Ugh,. I don't know what's put me in such a good mood ... Ava's having a tantrum upstairs and I'm tired and I'm going to get told off for still being on the computer ... but who cares? I'm insane!! Yay!


	21. March of the Varden

Chapter Twenty-One.

March of the Varden.

Eragon dodged a farmer herding a flock of geese to a covered wagon and looked around. Aberon city's main street had been transformed from a bustling marketplace to a courtyard of warfare. Men shouted, carrying armour and weapons, yelling at squires to bring this and that; smiths were busy at work, shoeing the last of King Orrin's cavalry and the sturdy cobs and draughts that were going to pull the wagons.

Women said goodbye to husbands and young men, brothers and fathers alike. Others carried clothing to store, bandages and salves, herbs and such exotic mushrooms that Eragon suspected Angela's involvement.

Children cried, stallions, giddy with all the excitement, broke out of rank and danced round the square, scattering people as they went; food, strange things that Eragon would have never guessed to be food was being loaded up, relatives of the soldiers sobbed, but to Eragon, it was good to be on the move.

Surda was hot and dry; he pitied the poor people of the Varden that were staying behind; he could not wait to see green pasture, blue water and tall trees again. Or even mountains, the Spine and the Anora Falls ... Eragon sighed. He really was far from home.

_Eragon, Horst is with your healer from have Carvahall, and a small blonde woman. Oh – and Angela. _

Eragon's heart leapt._ Angela? Oh, and Gertrude – I wonder where the baby is?_

_With Aunty Katrina, I imagine. Who, by the way, is on her way to Horst as well. _

_And Albriech and Baldor?_

_Hitching a team to a wagon; Horst has just shoed them. _

_Anyone else? _

_Roran is coming over to coo over the child. _

_Is Nasuada in the courtyard yet? She said she would be arriving with Roran. _

_Ah, I see her; she is having an argument with the thin man from the Council of Elders. _

_Him! Where is she?_

_She is by the sheep pens. What will you do? _

_He will find out. _

Eragon navigated the sheep pens and found Falberd, a member of the council of elders he remembered from Tronjheim, talking to Nasuada in barely controlled anger. She was calmly listening to him, watching his face passively. Before he could finish, Eragon strode up.

"Is there a problem?" he asked calmly. Nasuada did not look at him, but kept her eyes on the furious Falberd.

"The ... Nasuada is taking women! She has all her household with her! And for what? To fasten her pretty dresses?" Falberd was apoplectic with rage.

"I have fought in more wars than you, Falberd! Where were you when my father was betrayed by the very people you had recruited? Where were you when the Red Rider emerged from the smoke? Where were you when the scouting troop was cornered by Fanghur?

The women I bring with me are capable nurses and trained in swordsmanship and archery; I chose them to come with me, out of the many who asked to come. When you are bleeding and ill, who will look after you? Your men, trained in only the basics? It will these women that travel with me. This is my final word, Falberd, and if you do not like it, then you do not have to come to the Empire with us; I am sure there is a nice place in the kitchens that would suit you well."

Falberd stared at her, incensed, then crumpled. "You are making the wrong decision!" He said, hand on his broadsword, then turned and stormed off; Nasuada watched him go without regret.

"He has no sense of dare," said Nasuada with a smile, then she turned back to the sheep. "Yes, the lightest ones would be best."

"Yes, m'Lady." mumbled the farmer, and started shoving a flock of sheep into a different chute for her.

"You are taking women?" asked Eragon, wanting to confirm it.

Nasuada turned to him, almond eyes intent. "Yes, Eragon, we are, for the reasons that you heard me tell Falberd. But I would like to know what you think about it."

Eragon thought of Nasuada; she was a formidable warrior, better even than some of Galbatorixs' elite and she had fought in both major battles that he and Saphira had fought in as well. Then his thoughts turned to Birgit: Birgit would quite happily try to take on the whole of Galbatorixs' army by herself, and there was no doubt about her fighting ideas; also, Eragon knew that, despite the hundreds of thousands that would march on the Empire, they still paled in comparison to the Empire. That meant that, even if they did win, there would be much work to do and not all of it man's work. "Yes, Nasuada, you are right and I agree."

She smiled. "If truth be told, Eragon, I can not go against you , whether I would or not."

Ah, my Lady, but I would not go against you."

"I am glad to hear that, Eragon." she said softly. "But there is something you should know ..."

"I am going with the army." Someone said from behind him; he spun quickly. Katrina's copper hair was tied back underneath a large kerchief; she was wearing tough trousers and a large, cotton man's shirt.

"What?" said Eragon, shocked.

"I am going with Nasuada." she said firmly. "They need nurses."

Eragon looked at her. She was a very imposing figure, stern and quiet. He did not want her to endanger herself, but then, they were all in danger; it was up to her how she would spend her life. "Have you told Roran?" he asked her.

She relaxed slightly at his response. "I have not; we have been busy ..." she smiled brightly, "Elaine has had girl! And she is the sweetest thing, Eragon!"

"I'm glad," he said lightly, "have they named her?"

She nodded. "Her name is Netta – you know, after the winter flower."

"It's beautiful." The Netta flower was a small, white flower that grew on the lower slopes on the Anora Falls, and flowered in winter.

"So is the child; come and see her." Katrina beckoned to Eragon, who looked at Nasuada for permission to be dismissed.

"Oh, by all means, go Eragon, give my blessings to her family." Nasuada turned her attention back to the sheep, who were now being tied to a wagon.

Eragon thanked her and followed Katrina to where Roran, Horst, Baldor and Elaine were standing, talking seriously. As he and Katrina approached, they stopped and looked around.

"Eragon?" said Elaine, staring at him.

"Hello Elaine. How are you?"

She smiled happily. "Thanks to Angela, we are both fine, Netta and me."

"Angela?" said Eragon. "Oh, yes, I expect she helped a great deal."

Roran looked at Eragon. "Are you to travel with Carvahall?"

Eragon sobered. "I don't know. I think that I will stay near Nasuada, as assassins could be everywhere. But I will find out. And by the way ... Eragon a group of dwarves has arrived to see you. They say they need to see you."

Eragon was very surprised. "Dwarves? Do you know their clan?"

"No," he replied, "I know nearly nothing of the clans. But they talk about a debt of honour."

He was puzzled. "Where are they?"

"With Orrin's cavalry, but wait Eragon," Roran hurried to his brothers' side. "Will you bless the child? It would mean so much to Horst and Elaine."

Eragon stopped short. "I don't know, Roran," he said, "remember Elva?"

"I do, but you must do as you see fit. I, however, think you would not make the same mistake twice."

Eragon stood undecided, then sighed. "I will not refuse Horst; I owe a lot of things, even my life, on their family."

Thank-you Eragon," said Roran solemnly. They went back to where the small girl was huddled in a blanket and Roran nodded to Horst. Horst flushed and bowed slightly.

"It would mean a lot to us, Eragon, if you would bless our child."

"I will, Horst. Where is she?" Elaine brought forward the bundle of blankets and, nestled in the fleece, was a tiny, new-born face, black tufty hair and red mouth. Her eyes were closed but, as if sensing Eragon's gaze, she opened the tiny lids to show deep, chocolate - brown eyes that were like her mother's. He smiled. "She is very beautiful. _Atra esterni ono thelduin, un atra mor'ranr lífa unin hjarta onr" _Eragon looked up to Netta's parents. They were watching as if scared. A man shouted above the noise, "Shadeslayer!" and Eragon turned away to find the source of the voice, leaving Horst and Elaine with their daughter.

A tall, wiry man Eragon vaguely recognised as one of the Royal Bodyguard of Surda was forcing his way through the thronging man and animals. "Shadeslayer!" he shouted again.

"What can I do for you?" Eragon said, as soon as they were near enough to talk without having to shout.

"I am Hadarn . I have a message from King Orrin. He wishes you to know that a delegation of dwarves of Ragni Hefthyn bearing Undins's seal have arrived. They are asking for you; quite vigorously, I must say." Hadarn found this amusing and grinned, as if all this was really below him. "Wagging their beards and all." To him, dwarves were obviously not as clever as humans.

Eragon looked him in the eyes. The man visibly recoiled; Eragon's eyes were as cold as ice. "What do they want?"

"Got their debt to you, that what they're saying. I – er – am supposed to take you to them." All the bounce had gone out of his voice. He looked positively terrified at the thought of accompanying Eragon to his destination.

"Where are they?"

"The watering yard, Shadeslayer." He eyed Eragon nervously. Eragon was astounded at the way one simple look had reduced this man to wincing nerves.

"I know where it is. I can go myself." Eragon did not let his voice warm at all.

Hadarn looked immensely relieved, but protested feebly anyway. Eragon waved away his stammered protests. "You may leave. Tell King Orrin that I am meeting the dwarves now."

Hadarn left with barely contained relief. "M' Lord Shadeslayer." he muttered, before turning and getting lost immediately in the seething crowds again. Eragon watched him go, amused but angry at the way he had seemed to think of the dwarves as a joke.

"Pretentious lard-barrel." said someone behind him. Fisk's spiky brown hair boobed into vie to stand next to Eragon. "Had to work with him to supply weapons. He seems to think that all manners of life forms that are not Surdans and therefore less clever. I had difficulty keeping the swords I was handing out from his throat, I tell you."

Eragon grinned in appreciation of both Fisk's description of Hadarn and frank way of speaking; it was something Eragon sorely missed. Even the people he had grown up with were careful and reserved around him. "I couldn't agree more, Fisk. Roran is over by the covered wagons. Would you excuse me?"

Fisk grinned; he was clearly not in such tongue-tied awe of Eragon's new status. "Of course. Going to say goodbye to a lady friend?"

Eragon would have surprised Hadarn by his loss of self-control. "What?"

Fisk chuckled happily. "You should hear the tales they tell 'round the campfires about you, young Eragon." Eragon was still completely at sea. Fisk saw, and carried on. "They say you have a fairy-wife from the elves." Fisk nodded happily at that rumour; a page from Tronjheim had told him that one.

"I don't ... what? Who told you this?" he cried.

"Well ..." Fisk looked surprised at his vehemence against this. "They are just rumours, Eragon, just rumours ... but is there really no truth in them?"

Eragon felt a painful pang in his heart. If only they _were _true, or at least partially. If only Arya had answered differently on that starry night. "No Fisk, not an ounce of truth in them," he said firmly. "If you will excuse me, I must go." Fisk muttered goodbye and Eragon went in search of the watering yard.

--

The watering yard was built of worn yellow sandstone and was, compared to the rest of Aberon, quiet. A few stable-lads ran to and fro, carrying saddles rather larger than themselves and the odd squire carried armour from place to place, but overall, it was peaceful; Eragon liked it.

"Barzul knular! Az Hrethcarach shaz emuir! Rwy – what do you mean, boy?"

Eragon recognised that voice, and could understand most of what it said as well; evidently they were annoyed at the delay in the Shadeslayer's arrival. He let his face settle into an unemotional mask and walked to where a large well stood, with a company of perhaps half-a-dozen and a scared looking squire were sheltering in the shade.

"What is wrong here?"

The short forms leapt to their feet with grunts of surprise. "Werg! Barzul! Shadeslayer!" They cried in surprise.

"Good day, Thorv," said Eragon calmly. "What brings you and your kinsmen to Surda?"

"We have come to keep our honour-debt." Thorv gestured to the young squire, who disappeared into the stables with distinct relief. "As we promised, he is fat and sleek." The dwarf returned from the stables, leading, on a gold inlaid harness –

"Snowfire!" cried Eragon. He stroked the white stallions nose and neck, feeling muscles rippling beneath the surface of his satin skin. "It is good to see you again, old fiend," Eragon murmured. The stallion was less overcome. He snorted into Eragons hand, checking for treats, and nickering.

"He is to you're liking?" asked Thorv tentatively.

"He is indeed!" replied Eragon happily. "I am indebted to you."

Thorv bobbed his head. "We did nought but keep out promise. We would, however, ask that you grant us a boon."

_Grant it, Eragon._ Said Saphira immediately. They_ guarded you all the way to Ellesmera, which a perilous trip; they have kept that animal you call a horse – _Saphira sent deep disapproval through their link – _and seem to have done it well. Grant the boon, little one, it is the least we can do._

Eragon snorted. _It might turn out to be something rather large, but you are right; and I had every intention of granting it._

_Good. _

"Saphira and I will grant your boon," he said to the waiting dwarves. "What be it?"

"That you would do us the honour of allowing us to accompany you in the invasion and to fight by your side in battle. It would be an incomparable honour, Shadeslayer."

Eragon blinked. It was an unusual request, but he should have expected it, after knowing Orik for so long. "and it would be an honour to have you all fighting beside as well." The dwarves nodded in appreciation, beards moving as they smiled gruffly. "There is a large company of wagons housing Nasuada and the Royal household of Surda in the lowest part of the city ... You should find it easily; find Nasuada and tell her that I have given you permission to travel with us. She will let you."

Thank-you Shadeslayer," said Thorv, bowing deeply, while the others murmured their thanks as well. They left, heavy haversacks over their shoulders.

Snowfire snorted, watching the ones who had tended to him for so long leave. Eragon turned to the stallion. He was indeed as healthy as it was possible for an animal to be without being fat; his muscles rippled beneath his smooth coat, and, as Eragon saw in shock, the harness he was wearing was not the leather one that they had bought in Therinsford, but a new one. It was made of thick leather hidden beneath silver patterns. The metal seemed to mould into the leather as if it had been directly melted over the bridle. A martingale connected the bridle to the saddle, which was also not the one purchased with the horse. It was covered with a silver cloth that shimmered and moved softly in the light, but Eragon could tell that it would not move, even in the thick of battle; Eragon knew, and thought shocked him, that here was something that no other man in all of Alagaesia could claim to have – but Snowfire himself was a gift Eragon had not dreamed of ever having.

"Ah, Brom would be proud of you, Snowfire," Eragon told his horse, taking the reins and leading him to a free stable. He took off the tack, carefully putting it aside. He would ask Nasuada to dispatch a squire to take care of him.

Snowfire soon had his head in a feeding bucket and was happily munching away at some mash, while Eragon watched him, quietly reflecting that it was much easier to take care of a horse when there was a stable available. From the city, shouts, animals noises and other various sounds, jerked him into action again. Patting Snowfire one last time, he went in search of Roran.

--

"For – ward!" Roared the brawny man standing at the front of the huge train of people. All the wagons slowly creaked into motion, oxen, horses and mules pulling at the harnesses. The many people walking by the side of the wagons moved forward, leading other animals, such as cows and sheep on tethers. Chickens and geese were in wire boxes tied onto the wagons underneath wooden shelters to keep them safe from the weather.

Inside the wagons, armour, clothes, medical supplies and huge stocks of food were piled up and stacked neatly, while bows, swords and knives were arrayed on hooks in the wood, watched over by the ever-vigilant Fisk. Horsts' wagon rolled along nearby, his two strong plough-horses pulling it as effortlessly as munching on a nosebag.

Seventy or so Kull walked in pairs on all sides of the caravan, weapons bristling; they were taking in their guttural tongue, singing war-songs and seemed to be glad, once more, to be nearing a battle. Strangely, this feeling was echoed in every man and woman that was with the caravan. They were glad to be on the move, to be finally doing something to challenge the King in a way even he could not deny. They all knew how dire the situation was and were determined to do their best for their leaders, to die bravely.

As the company passed through the streets of Aberon, all the inhabitants gathered ion the roads to wave farewell. Mothers cried as their sons and daughters went to war; siblings stared at their brothers and sisters marching with the army. Families wept, wives searching for a sight of their husbands of many years. It was a terrible sight, and all knew that there were little chances of any of them returning to see their loved ones again.

But there were, like Roran and Katrina, many couples who were both brave and loving, and had set out together to fight Galbatorix. As it was, nearly seventy women were travelling and all seventy could fight, though their first job would be to act as healers.

Nasuada and Orrin were in the very centre of the company, both having been guarded by numerous wards, some from the elven spellcasters, some from Eragon, and, unique in their nature, some of Arya's. Yellow and black flags flew, fluttering from the saddles of the King's cavalry. Purple pennants flew over the company as well, the white dragon on them moved in sinuous waves, and seemed, for moments, to be flying free again.

A sapphire blue dragon circled above them, eyes turned towards where she knew Surda finished and the Empire started. An elf was leaning over her saddle, watching the wagons and people slowly make their way through Aberon city. His hair flew in the breeze, but when his face turned to the Empire, it was a cold, hard mask; had anyone seen it, they would have doubted either dragon or Rider.

A proud horn-call sounded, echoing off the sandy cliffs and tilled fields of Surda.

The Varden was marching.

--


	22. A Red Day

Thank-you so much reviewers! You really make my days (s) !!!!

Quite a bit of blood and gore, but not too bad. He deserved it!

Chapter Twenty-Two.

A Red Day.

Feinster had been badly guarded. There were few imperial troops, and they were soon overpowered. The mayor, Aimery Berenger, had soon caved to the Varden, letting them replenish their stores and some young men even volunteered to join them. The townspeople had supported the Varden, much to the mayors displeasure, but Nasuada, foreseeing betrayal from him, had left her senior officer, Balnor, to watch over the town. Overall, it was quite peaceful, but when they left, it was with an air of relief that Aimery waved them from his town.

Nasuada was pleased with the outcome of that. Eragon had been an enormous help; saying the right things, backing her whole-heartedly. Although, of course, the mere sight of him was enough to scare the old man into agreement. Next, they would be going onto Belatona. _That, _Nasuada sensed, would be far more interesting; Belatona had the remnants of town walls and a few soldiers as well. She could not wait.

--

Eragon watched the water bubble happily along it's bed. It was good to see blue water and green grass again, without the permanent feature of_ sand._ The last few weeks had been jarringly different from any other times of his life, but he was happy to be on the move again. Soon they would trike back against Galbatorix;_ soon _he would be able to fight Murtagh properly; **soon **everything would change and the Varden would fight back.

_Ah, little one, when we reach Belatona we will be able to use our skills again. _

_I know, Saphira, and I cannot wait. When we fight Murtagh, we will show no mercy. _

_And he will rue the very day he was born._

_I think .. I think he already does. I think that he does not want be like his father, but also wants to work for Galbatorix to make 'a new Alagaesia' . What nonsense. _

_Whether he wants to be like his father or not, he seems to be well on his way to achieving it. That last spy proved it beyond doubt. _

_Perhaps. _A spy, the last one in Uru'Baen, had entered the vardens camp just two days ago. He had brought news of Murtagh._ Traitor, liar, monster! _Eragon thought suddenly, screaming inside at what his half-brother had become: The spy had said, in angry and indignant tones, that Murtagh, having spent at least an hour alone with numerous bottles of ale and mead, eventually went after women, maids, fine Ladies of the court, and even and pretty peasants from the hovels of Uru'Baen. Sometimes he would spend the whole night with them, the spy had said, in no uncertain terms, sometimes he went to find another woman to share his bed after the first one. All the women of the city, noble folk and peasants alike, were scared of him.

Eragon gripped his sword tightly. Oh, how he hated that man. He knew that Murtagh expected Eragon to be broken by his revelation at the Burning Plains, to retain some love for his brother, to try and bring him back to the Varden. But Eragon felt none of those emotions; only a cold hard anger that gave him energy and a kind of hating hope in his fight against the Empire.

_Eragon, we continue. All the water skins have been filled. _

_I am coming. _Eragon got up, past where Thorv and his liege men were playing a quick game of dice, past where the elves were sitting in quiet meditation, to where Nasuada's wagon was just staring to move. Eragon stood by the front of the wagon and walked in pace with it, easily keeping up.

Feinster had been a new experience for him, but there had been little fighting; he had not even drawn his sword. It had been something new to see the way Nasuada handled the grumpy old man; he had needed to do nothing, although he had backed her up completely.

Katrina, after telling Roran of her decision to go with the army, which he had vehemently opposed until he had realised that Katrina would not swayed, had been very busy. Animals caught by hunters had to be skinned, their hides cleaned, their meat preserved. She was also busying herself with learning more about the bow, as her sword craft was good. Eragon's heart swelled when he thought of the way they loved each other. It was good that his brother had found happiness.

_I am going hunting, little one. I will not go far and no one will notice me. Tell Nasuada if she wonders._

_I will, Saphira. I hope there is some good hunting near here. _

_Me as well. I will be back soon._

_Good bye, then. _

She sent her farewell through their link. Her thoughts were already on her unfortunate quarry.

_--_

Belatona was on a ridge overlooking the Leona Lake. A fairly strong wall ran round the town, but, as Eragon found out when he reached out in his mind towards the town, full of Imperial soldiers.

"How many, Eragon?" asked Nasuada.

"Two hundreds, perhaps. It should be easy enough," he answered.

She smiled. "Good. I will get my sword."

"Nasuada, you _cannot_ fight in this battle." He said firmly.

She raised her eyebrows. "And why not?"

"Anyone –_ anyone, _can be killed, my Lady, and there is a chance that you could be killed in this skirmish by merely a stray arrow or off-balance sword. We cannot risk you, Nasuada."

She fixed him with a piercing look, but he returned it. "I see your point, Eragon, and you are right. I will not fight in this battle." She sighed. "Would you please tell Roran that I want him to bring up the rear? I do not want to risk him, either."

"Yes my lady." He touched his hand to his forehead and left.

Roran was sharpening his sword with a whetstone, rhythmically moving the stone up and down the dull steel blade. Eragon quickly relayed Nasuada's message, whereupon Roran stood to talk to her himself, leaving Eragon on his own.

"Good day Eragon." A calm, musical voice washed over him.

"Arya. How are you?" he said politely, turning to face her; she was as always: the thin band of leather around her forehead, black hair tumbling around her shoulders, catlike green yes watchful.

"Well, thank-you. Will you fight tomorrow?"

"Definitely; I have, however, persuaded Nasuada not to; I don't want to lose her now."

She might have been surprised. "That was good thinking; I am glad you did so."

He bobbed his head. "And you? Will you fight?" He tried to pretend he was unconcerned.

"I expect so; I do not think Nasuada has any the plans for me."

Eragon's hand dropped to his hilt. "It will be good to do some proper fighting."

Arya smiled a little. "It will." A cold fire danced behind her emerald eyes.

--

"Charge!" Eragon cried, urging Snowfire forward. Saphira roasted may soldiers in their armour; his men surged forward, eager to fight once more. They were on the flat land behind Belatona: it was too small for Saphira to fight without endangering her own side. Instead, Eragon rode Snowfire while she flew above, killing many of the enemy easily.

Arya was leading another battalion while Roran brought the men of Carvahall at the back. He was leading the first charge, though, and they were doing well. Already the Imperial soldiers were in chaos; they seemed to have no real leader and had been unprepared for their attack.

A tall man in plate-armour sent a crashing blow towards Eragon; he deflected it easily, before dodging behind the man's defence and stabbing his lower belly. The man fell beneath Eragon's feet, blood bubbling on his lips. Eragon brought his sword up, severing the heads from the neck, ensuring a quick death, before moving on.

No one stood before Eragon and lived. Man after man was cut down as effortlessly as blinking; within an hour all the enemy were dead, others taken as captives.

"Well, brother, that was easier than it should have been!" laughed Roran, when they met in the middle of the blood-soaked ground.

"It was," replied Eragon, "but that is what worries me; they undoubtedly knew that we were coming; why was there no better resistance?"

"That is what worries me also." Arya had arrived. "I think that he does not care whether we capture this town or not; evidently, he thinks we are no great threat."

"We should tell Nasuada this," said Roran. "Come, the healers are coming for the injured now."

Arya, Roran and Eragon walked through the Varden camp, positioned further down the hill away from the armies. Nasuada was waiting impatiently by her roan charger, Vinyafod. When she saw them coming, she hurried forward.

"Are you all all right? Not hurt?" she said urgently.

They assured her that they were not, and she relaxed. "Good. Is something the matter? Jormundr has already given me an account of the battle, though it barely rates that term."

"We feel that Galbatorixs' lack of organisation was ... alarming, to say the least," said Arya. "We think that he ... well, that he just does not care."

Nasuada nodded. "I think you are right, Arya. All past experience says that Galbatorix will not fight until Uru'Baen itself is threatened ... that is why we go to Dras Leona. Also," she added, remembering suddenly, "we have had a dove from Ellesmera; the elves are marching on the Empire as we speak. They go two directions, Gil'ead and Ceunon. With luck, we will be ready as one united force to take on the Empire."

Eragon sucked in his breath. "Do they require mine and Saphira's help with the larger cities?"

"Not as far as I know; they may call for you and Saphira in due time." Nasuada held her jewelled dagger tightly. "All that remains is Dras Leona."

--

Eragon's lip curled as he surveyed the tangled yellow mess that was Dras Leona. It did not bring back good memories. "Fisk, tell Roran that we are ready." The carpenter nodded and left swiftly.

They were standing in front of Dras Leona's front gate. It had already been thrown down and was ready for their company to ride in.

_We will take the main gate, my Lady. _Eragon told her, contacting her mentally.

_Good. Arya will take the last battalion and Jormundr the second. Roran is to follow you and your men. _

_I understand. We await your signal. _

Nasuada, atop proud Vinyafod, stood in her stirrups. "People of the Varden! Here we start our first attack on the Empire! We will throw down his Empire and grind it into the dust of centuries past!" She shouted. All her people roared in approval. "Do not hurt those who are old or hurt; let us see how long it takes Galbatorixs' so called 'Lord' to rescue his people!" And with a cry that would have curdled blood, Nasuada launched her charger forward.

The Varden followed her, Orrin's cavalry galloping away to encircle the city and block all exit routes for any fleeing nobles.

As Eragon cantered through the city, his soldiers on either side of him, he remembered the way he had first rode in. Poor and battered, he and Brom had seemed little out of place from all the other beggars and layabouts that crowded this city.

They turned a corner; the city was now a little cleaner, but only marginally. Around this corner was a few hundred bristling weapons. Eragon did not falter, but charged straight into them, cutting down all in his path.

Eragon saw Arya fighting from the ground, easily lopping of heads and stabbing stomachs. Nasuada was also fighting like one possessed, men falling at her touch. As they fought through they thicket of Imperial troops, Eragon realised where they were; they were nearing the house of Lord Risthart of Dras Leona. As he realised this, they had also killed the last of the enemy soldiers.

Nasuada brought her horse into a collected canter; her army was all crowded into a large courtyard, filled with incense sticks and little statues. The large silver gates to Risthart's mansion were to the far end. Nasuada reined her horse in and shouted, in a voice that would have any town crier credit: "Where is Lord Risthart? I see he has not come out to save his people!" The Varden cheered. "Will you not come out, servant of Galbatorix? I am sure we can discuss an agreement!"

Eragon was awed at the hatred and power in Nasuada's voice. Inside, Risthart was probably shaking in his fur-lined boots.

A slow minute ticked past, until, silently and smoothly, the silver gates swung open. Inside, a delegation of men was standing. In their midst, short, pale-eyed and cowering, was Risthart.

"We demand a truce!" he cried; he could not mask the tremors in his voice.

"And why should we grant that?" Nasuada cried back.

"The Lord Risthart does not need to answer to you! You are at our mercy!" Another man cried.

"Out horsemen surround your pitiful walls! All my army is behind me and there are more at our camp! It is my mercy that matters now, spokesman!"

This caused a murmur of fear in Risthart's delegation. "We realise your hold on my city. Will you not grant us a truce now?"

Jormundr answered. "Leave all your weapons where you are standing, then walk through the gates to the centre of our men – you only, Risthart."

Risthart did so, dropping a well decorated but little-used rapier to the ground.

As the Lord entered the clearing in the middle of the courtyard, Nasuada ,too, rode up. Gracefully dismounting from Vinyafod, she stood before the Lord. "And this is the Risthart we have heard so much about?" she walked, slowly, in a circle around the sweating man. "The one they say drains his people of all their hard-earned money?"

Risthart did not seem to see where this was going, but the hard note and look of pure anger and hatred in Nasuada's eye told him that he had better tread carefully. "I assure you, I treat my people well, I -"

"We have heard of your caring ways, Risthart. I must say, I am disappointed; I expected more of a resistance."

He ignored this. "Please, we can help you. Food, clothes, healers! The monks of Helgrind are very ..."

"Fool!" thundered Nasuada. "You think we want help from those demons in human form?! Only a true minion of Galbatorix could say such a thing."

Risthart's terrified mask slipped; beneath it was a sly, evil little man, ready to do his kings' bidding. "You are the fools! You really think you can defeat Galbatorix, the most powerful man alive?! I will roast in Hell before I help you."

Nasuada did not look surprised. "You will not help the Varden?" he sent her a look of pure loathing. "No? All right then. Let us help you on your way to Hell. Off with his head." She gestured at one of her loyal guards standing next to her and stood back.

The man stood forward, and , with as little care as a flea drinking blood, raised his sword and swung.

Risthart's head fell with a heavy _thunk _on the hard ground of the courtyard. All was silent.

Nasuada looked up from the blood-stained corpse. "Bring this piece of filth's followers; tie them up and bring them with us. Jormundr, I want you to stay with your battalion; apart from them, all men retreat!"

With a murmur, the army turned and left, all following their leaders. Arya marched at the head of one; Vinyafod's red coat shone; Roran lead his men, Horst by his side; Snowfire proudly arched his head, tack glimmering in the sun.

Eragon was shocked at what Nasuada had done. He had bot realised just how capable and cold she could sometimes be. But what was it Oromis had said? _You must know **why** you are fighting. You must believe in what you fight for; you must be able to close your eyes against the horrors that the Varden will inevitably commit in the future. Without that, you will not give your full allegiance. _

And Oromis had been right. Nasuada had done the right thing – that did not make it any more pleasant, but at least he knew, firmly and unwaveringly, what the Varden was doing, what he given his life to, was the right thing.

_Ah, little one, you have grown. _He said nothing. _It was nasty fighting, Eragon; I was watching from above. Blood flowed like wine. _

_Aye_ ...Something Brom had once said back to him. _Aye. It was red day for all._

--

Two chapters so fast!!! Hope you liked it, tell me what you think.


	23. Just Like Home

A few announcements. 1) if you can't find it on the normal Eragon pages, it's because of the M rating; the pages only have K – T ratings, so you'll have to search on M.

2) Thank-you reviewers!!!!!!!!!!!!! You make my day, and I apologise if I do not reply to al of them – but I value each and every one of them. I writer for those who review!! And my own entertainment ... I'm rambling. You should probably just read the chapter. Cool. Peace. whatever

Chapter Twenty-Three.

Just Like Home.

Tents had been erected all around the pale yellow wall of Dras Leona. Yellow and black glared severely at the cowed and confused peasants of the city, while purple and white fluttered triumphantly in the cold breeze from the north. Men and women both, healers and knights, walked through the camp, tending to the wounded and to horses.

On the other side of the hill, nearer Leona Lake, a large field was being tilled; it was to be a mass grave. On yet another side of the field, many Varden warriors were digging graves and making markers for the graves; they were determined to give their fallen comrades an honoured resting place.

The people of Dras Leona were confused, but joyous. They thought that the Varden would release them from the poverty and misery they had been living for time beyond measure. Friends visited friends, family visited family, tramps gathered on the outside of the raucous camp, hoping for scraps or money.

Eragon, repairing a bent arrow, watched all this and sighed. He had a ... well, a prison visit later on; all Risthart's advisors and supporters deemed dangerous were currently, to satisfy Nasuada's blood lust, thrown in the deepest, dankest dungeon the town could provide. Eragon and Annatar, spell-caster of the elves and perhaps Arya as well were all to go and cast wards and also check their minds for anything that might be harmful to the Varden.

"Eragon," Roran had found him; "come, join us. Halberd found a flock of geese on the lake and has caught a brace of them. Orik and Thorv are with us."

"I cannot brother." Eragon swung his quiver over his shoulder. "I have prison-visit. Will you come with us to visit Risthart's men?" he asked as they descended down the small rise to the camp.

"I think not. There is much to do and I do not have magic, so I would be little use to you – but Nasuada is talking with Arya at the moment."

"Ah. I will ask her then. Tell me ... what are your plans with Katrina for this evening? Fisk and Morn have cleared an area for a dance ... you should take her." Eragon sneaked a glanced at his cousin, who was staring determinedly ahead.

"I will ask her," he said stiffly. Eragon wondered what was wrong – until he looked at Roran again; he was grinning. "I will certainly ask her, and then I will dance with her in a way she has never imagined!"

Eragon laughed, enjoying the light-heartedness. "I wish you luck with that, brother." He frowned. "You spend little time with her."

"You are suddenly so well-experienced in these matters, Eragon. Did you meet someone special among the elves?"

Eragon gaped. "I was talking about you and Katrina! Don't change the subject."

Roran looked as if he wanted to press the point, but didn't. "I _will_ ask her to come to the dance with me – we haven't spent a lot of time together for a long time."

Eragon nodded seriously. "I thought ... I always thought, when we were travelling, Brom, Saphira and I, that you were getting ready to be married, and, when we were with the Varden, I was comforted by the thought that you and Katrina would be living happily together – why do you not marry?"

Roran sobered. "We felt that it was not the right time ..." he trailed off, thinking. Had they really decided that? They had just ... not discussed it.

"I would like very much to have a sister, Roran ... and you should have wife, you need one, brother," he added, quickly carrying on before Roran could interrupt. "And she loves you, I know."

Roran eyed him, but said nothing.

"Perhaps you should talk to her," he held up a hand as Roran showed every sign of interrupting, "I know it is none of my business, but I would like to see you both happy. I only ask that you think over my words." Eragon saw that they were nearing the tent that had been erected for him, and turned from his cousin to go. Roran did not stop him, but carried on, like a man in a daze, towards where Halberd and his brace of geese were currently very close to the fire.

Eragon looked around his tent; it was meagre and cold at this time of year, but the coldness did not bother him so much – not since the Agaeti Blodrhen. He had little to fill the tent either, and so he thought it was really comfortable enough for him.

Unbelting his sword, he sat on his bedroll and reached for his whetstone. In his first spare moment for a few days at least and numerous skirmishes, he thought his sword would need it; though he had though about it little in the past few months, it was at times like this he missed Za'roc. The plain,human battle-sword he used was not something he felt any affection for, as he had with the red sword. He still felt the frustrating inadequacy of the sword when tried to perform a trick that his elven speed now allowed him to do, only to find that the blade was always heavier than he anticipated; many times during the few battles he had been had he only just avoided serious injury because of the clumsiness of his sword.

He oiled the blade and began scraping the stone against the dull silver. It was rhythmic, unexciting work and it gave him time to think.

_Eragon, _Saphira said gently. _There is a disturbance in the crowds around the camp._ She spoke carefully, realising his thoughtful mood.

_Is it anything serious? _

She considered. _I do no think so ... perhaps we should look from above ... and we have not flown together for days. _

_I know; I have missed it. These earthly matters are not the same as being with you in the sky. _

_No matter ... I am coming now. Are you in your tent?_

_I am. _A few short minutes later Eragon heard the heavy thump of her wings outside; she had put on a another growth spurt and was consequently faster and heavier in the air.

_Come, little one. There is a possibility that we will be needed._

Eragon climbed into her saddle, strapping the leather thongs on. Saphira took off, radiating pure joy at the both of them being in the sky again. The crowds below were black, swarming dots, but Eragon could see a disturbance in them._ What do you think is going on? _

_A tramp getting more insistent than he should, or maybe a drunkard; there seem to be many of them in Dras Leona._

_True ... should we go to Nasuada?_

_Perhaps we should just go to her wagon – it may be nothing. _

_It may be an assassin._

_It may – all the more reason to go to her. _

_If we must. _Eragon didn't want to end their flight; it had been a long time since they had flown together.

_You wish to land less than me?! _She laughed. _You should have been the dragon, Eragon!_

_Oh no ... I could not live up to you, Bjartskular. _

She snorted. _Be careful, or I will tip you from my back! _

_You wouldn't. _

_I would ... you should not anger me further, human. _

_My humble apologies, O Great One. _

_That s better – hold on! _She dived into a steep drop; Eragon whooped as the ground grew steadily nearer. He could see people looking up, then jumping in alarm at the sight of Saphira descending at a great speed towards them. Eragon grinned to see them; when she touched ground, he leaped off immediately. _Are you coming?_

_Of course. _

Nasuada appeared not to have been informed of the disturbance outside; she was sitting at a makeshift desk, reading a few official looking reports with the red flame and twist of the Empire. "Eragon," she smiled briefly, "what can I do for you?"

"Nothing my Lady... there was disturbance outside and we wanted to check on you." he answered.

"Well, I am fine, though I was not notified of this ... is it anything important?" Nasuada looked at him alertly; he saw that, although she was just as fierce as ever, she had dark bags under her eyes and she was tired; Eragon suspected that she had not slept for a while.

"No, my Lady, it is nothing to worry about, I think. I am sure Jormundr and the other guards will inform us anyway. Forgive for asking, my Lady, but you do not look well."

"I have not been sleeping well, that is all, nothing more. But thank-you for your concern, Eragon." she smiled more warmly this time. "So, are you ready for this ... prison visit?"

"I am, my Lady."

"Good. Annatar and Arya will both accompany us. We will see how loyal to the king the nobles are now." She stood, taking a dark cloak from a peg on the wall and standing. "Let us go, then."

--

It was, as Roran had said, that darkest, dankest dungeon that Nasuada had been able to find. Steep steps had been carved into black rock underneath the city and water dripped down the walls from sodden tendrils of moss. The disgraced nobles were not happy.

"Nothing! We have done nothing to you! Let us out!" a grey-haired man called. Nasuada frowned in annoyance.

"Quiet." she said sharply, and rapped his knuckles where they gripped the cold iron of his cell. He jumped back cursing. Nasuada carried on, looking into the various cells with detached interest. After inspecting them, and receiving all kinds of abuse as well, she turned to Annatar. "I think they will all need searching. I wouldn't put it past Galbatorix to teach his servants some evil magic. The sooner you can do it the better – this dungeon is only really fit for scum like them."

He bobbed a sinuous bow, "It will be done, Lady Nasuada."

"Good. I will stay, I think. Carry on."

Annatar turned to Eragon "Argetlam, if you could do the ones near the door, Princess, if you could the ones in the middle, I think the ones near the ends will do for me."

Eragon nodded. "Of course, Annatar." Arya as well nodded.

"Yes, Annatar." Eragon saw that her mouth had thinned a little, and remembered with a jolt, that no one in the Varden knew of Arya's heritage. Would Nasuada notice?

The first noble was a weak, shaking old man, eyes watery and weak, bones thin and brittle. Eragon examined his mind as gently as was possible, causing the least pain he could. The old man was called Amanm Parseim, and was certainly harmless; Nasuada sent him above to join a few soldiers she had brought with her; she thought him no threat.

Near him, Arya was wrestling with a man a who had clearly been taught to guard his mind well; however, after a very long period, she announced him trustworthy and they sent him above. Annatar was working swiftly and thoroughly, being gentle yet firm.

The next man Eragon examined was middle-aged, tall and athletic; apparently he had been a manservant for Risthart, but he was open and good-hearted. Eragon soon sent him above. However, few were so cooperative.

All three of the next men were young, strong and fiercely loyal to the King. Eragon had them all ensconced in well-warded cells where they would bother no one but the gaoler. For a vain and power-seeking lord, Eragon reflected, Risthart had hardly surrounded himself with clever or powerful people. Still, Eragon was grateful that they did nit need to spend any more time on the lords; when Arya finished the last one, he was glad to go.

"So they are not harmful?" asked Nasuada as they rode back to the camp.

"No," replied Annatar, "not in the sense that they an use magic or contact any one with their minds; some are very loyal to the Empire, but thankfully we have had no battle with highly-trained magicians."

"Good." Nasuada dismounted, handing Vinyafod's reins to a groom then turning back to Annatar. "There is surely some where we can put the harmless ones, as long as it is near camp."

"I agree ... there are a few places for them to go, Lady; I will see to it myself."

"Thank-you, Annatar. If you will excuse me; I have some papers from Risthart's mansion to read."

Annatar bowed, dismounting from the grey steed he had brought from Ellesmera, followed by Arya. They disappeared into the crowds of Varden and towards the guards fires. Eragon turned to Nasuada. "Will you not rest, my Lady?"

She frowned, looking at him as they walked back to her wagon. "There is too much work to be done, Eragon. I must work."

"Nasuada, you have done more than anyone else here and, besides, we cannot have you exhausting yourself; your people would not like that." They had reached her wagon and were standing outside it.

She held gaze for a moment, then gave in. "All right Eragon, I will sleep when I can." she smiled. "You are like a brother, caring for me like this! But I am very grateful – remember that, Eragon."

"Thank-you, my Lady. But if I am your brother, then you are my sister – and I love you like one as well." Eragon felt silly admitting it, but it was true – and he would have any harm come to her.

"Oh Eragon ..." she whispered, the stepped to him and hugged him. "So we are siblings, then? I am glad, I would have no other. I love you as well, like a sister ... my vassal."

He hugged her back tightly. "I am glad as well."

"Come now," she smiled. "We are giving my soldiers a fine show!"

He laughed. "I am coming. They will expect us to announce our intention to be married any time soon."

She snorted. "Love, I think, is not for me. There are some papers here you may find interesting ..." she rustled through a pile of papers, looking for the right one, seeming undisturbed by her last comment; but Eragon was saddened by it. Did she really think she would never find love? Eragon was sad – then he remembered him and Arya. He was not likely to find love either. He scowled. It was no matter.

"These are from the very halls of Uru'Baen. They will be useful, I think."

Eragon looked down at the thick parchment. It was written in a steady script, adorned with little black and red-gold ribbons. Eragon raised his eyebrows. "He goes to no little expense, does he?"

She eyed the parchment. "That is exactly what I thought."

"I will read it now, my Lady. By your leave?"

"Yes, yes." She waved him away and he exited the tent. It was dusk now, and all the men were gravitating towards on fire or another. Eragon dodged a tall guard and made his way to his tent; the papers were indeed interesting; they provided a very useful look into the ways of the Empire. All the money was gathered in Uru'Baen, then carefully and scantily spread to the various parts of the Empire that needed it – Eragon noticed, that, despite the disrepair of most of the King's land, little was spent on the welfare of the state. Absently chewing on a dried plum, he wondered whether it was possible to exploit that somehow ...

"Eragon!" Katrina poked her copper head into the tent. "I thought you were coming to the dance with us!"

"Oh. Oh yes I am. Wait a moment ..." He strapped on his dull grey sword and stood up. "All right, let's go."

Katrina smiled. "We will make it just like being at home."

"I look forward to it."

"I should hope so!" she cried. "All the young women in the village want to meet you!"

Eragon groaned as Katrina dragged him along by his hand. "I thought they had all stayed in Surda!"

"Goodness, no!" she grinned at his dismay. "Odele, Mina, Cully and a few others have all come – so has Odele's sailor-man."

"Oh," he said surprised. "Are you and Roran going to dance as well? I look forward to that!"

To his surprise, Katrina looked away. "Yes, we will dance, I hope. Hurry up. Look, there is the pavilion we are going to." She nodded to a pavilion that was already raucous and the gold light from a roaring fire was glowing against the tents.

"It seems like they have already started," he observed.

"No, they are waiting for their Shadeslayer." she tugged his hand harder and dragged him to the glowing pavilion.

"_Their _Shadeslayer?" he said sharply, but at that moment Katrina dragged him into the firelight and he fell silent. Most of the village turned to him; they were all seated on stools, bales of straw and some had even brought their bedrolls. They all stared, but thankfully, Fisk and Morn saved him.

"All right, Eragon!" Fisk shouted. "Come and sit down, we have drinks _and_ seats!" Katrina let go of his hand went to over to where Roran was laughing with Albriech.

Eragon grinned. Maybe this _would_ be like home after all. "Thank-you Fisk; you are a saviour among men." He was quickly falling back to the ways he had known for so long, the gruff shouts and home-brewed ale, and no upper-class manners.

"Aye, boy, but it is my ale!" Morn cried. "The last of this years brew!"

"I should have known from the excellent colour, Morn," Eragon grinned.

"Ah, sit down and never mind all that – it was turned by Quimby anyway. Sit, now, boy." Morn gestured to a bale of straw, no doubt filched from the stables. Eragon sat, and Fisk picked up his flute. "Come on, then, you loafers! Have we got any requests?!" he called to the rest of the village. They roared back at him good-naturedly.

"Loafer to you too, Fisk!"

"You can find your own ale, popinjay!" called Birgit. Eragon chuckled at her.

"Let's have, _Namarie, my Lady!_" Someone called.

"Good choice, Horace!" cried back Fisk. "All right, everyone! You know the tune! One two three ... _You said, one hot midsummers day,"_

"_That even when I go" _Horst and Baldor picked up the rhythm and carried on, _"On one of my es-capades! -"_

"_-You'll stay behind and wait for spring," _Roran and Katrina sang together in harmony, "_so we can marry then, beneath the blooming rose!"_

The whole village knew the song and all mouths opened for the chorus.

"_AND WHEN I GO A-ROVING, I KNOW THAT YOU WILL WAIT" _Morn and Tara blared out along with the rest , Fisk next to them piping along with the well-known tune.

"SO COME ALONG, ME'HEARTIES, TO SAIL THE SEVEN SEAS!" The village roared, enjoying the old tune.

"_The cold wind blows, the sailors cry, above the roaring waves! -" _

"NAMARIE, MY LADY; NAMARIE, FAREWELL!" the villagers chorused. Eragon realised, with a jolt, that 'namarie' was the Ancient Language, and it meant, 'farewell'. Unusual, he thought. It must be a song from a long time ago. The next time round, he joined whole-heartedly.

"_Oh, you'll wait for me; wait for me, you will!" _cried Horst, ale slopping over his hand from his cup.

"_For if you don't, then how can we! -"_

"BE MARRIED BENEATH THE SUMMER - ROSE?!" Cried the village.

"_The rose of Inith Lanan!"_

Morn stood up. "All right, lads and lasses! Find a partner and off we go!" Eragon was suddenly aware of all the young women staring at him. He started when Katrina appeared again, leading a young girl by the hand.

"Odele, this is Eragon." The girl blushed and began to curtsy. He stopped her.

"Please, don't. We are all here to have fun."

She smiled. "I agree, sir."

Katrina glared at him, and he realised he was supposed to ask her to dance. "Would you like to have this dance, Odele?"

"I would." She smiled. "My intended is sampling Morn's ale for the first time, I'm afraid."

He laughed, relieved that she would not think he intended anything romantically by the dance, and took her hand, guiding her to where all the other couples were lined up. Fisk picked up his flute again and Morn and Tara stood to join the couples. The music started, a catchy, old-fashioned song and the pairs began to twirl in another dance well-known to all.

"In and out and in-in out!" cried Tara, and all the couples did exactly as she said. All took one step to the fire, another back and to towards it again. Odele was laughing, and he found himself smiling too. He picked her up by the waist, twirling her round, then passed her, in unison with all the others, to the left. Another woman he knew to be Cully was passed to him, and they began the dance again.

"One, two, three-and-four. One, two, three-and-four." Birgit clapped. She had no partner, as her husband had been killed by the Ra'zac.

Girl after girl was passed along to Eragon and in turn he passed her along to Albriech. When the music finally finished, Eragon had danced with all the girls – and women – in Carvahall. Flushed and sweating, all the dancers collapsed on the various mismatched seats and gratefully asked for some ale.

"So Eragon! No broken hearts tonight, I hope?" Morn peered at him, grinning knowingly.

"No! What gave you that idea?!" Eragon asked curiously.

"Well ..." he said slyly, "Cully likes you. Do Riders not marry like us commoners?"

Eragon looked at the older man sharply, but there was no hint of malice in his eyes. "I do not know. And I am now the only Rider, Morn."

"Ah. Ah, yes." Morn, sensing some deep current in Eragon's thoughts, fell silent. It was a little while later that Roran stood up.

"Hey! Quiet!" The congregation quieted in respect for their leader. "I have an announcement." He looked about at his friends. "Katrina and I are going to be married."

There was a low buzz, which quickly loudened into shouts and cries. "QUIET!" roared Horst. "Let the man finish!"

Roran continued. "We have decided that, if we are to fight the King, then we will do it as a married couple. We were wondering, Horst," Roran said to the smith, "If you would marry us?"

Horst had been the Justice of the Peace in Carvahall, and had been for many years. "Now?" he stuttered.

Roran nodded. "No time like the present."

Horst gaped.

"Horst! Are you listening?! Marry them, for Mercy's sake!" Birgit cried.

"Ah. Oh ... well, then. Stand ... stand in front of me and repeat after me." Horst took some time gathering himself together. He was just ready to start when Katrina hissed to Eragon,

"Go and find the elf-woman! Arya!"

"Why?" he asked quickly.

"She helped to rescue me; she deserves to be here."

Eragon nodded; he understood. "I will be back soon." He ran, silent and fast, to Arya's tent. He felt for her mind; she was there.

"Arya?" he called tentatively. "Are you there?"

There was a quick rustle of movement. "Eragon? What do you want?" She crawled out of her tent, sword in hand.

"Come quickly!" He whispered. "Roran and Katrina!"

"What about them? What is going?"

"Getting married – come on!" He grabbed her hand, almost without thinking, and pulled away from her tent and towards Carvahall's pavilion. Arya stumbled along behind him, hissing angrily.

When they reached the pavilion, all eyes turned to the two elves. Arya closed her mouth, biting back a sharp remark and nodded to them all. They murmured quietly.

"Ahem." Horst coughed. "We are gathered here today to witness the marriage of Katrina, daughter of Ismira and Sloan, and Roran, son of Garrow and Marian."

Arya, watching, realised what was happening. Eragon reached for her hand again and took her to a spare bale of straw; they sat down together, not realising that people were still staring at the elven couple.

"To have and to hold, for better or for worse, for ever and ever, I do."Katrina finished, repeating after Horst.

"And do you, Roran Garrowsson, take Katrina, daughter of Ismira, to be your lawful and wedded wife?"

Roran smiled at his bride, then took her hand and pledged his oath. "I do."

The two turned to the waiting village and recited, after Horst, in heartfelt, trembling voices. "Entreat me not to leave you, or to return from following after you, for where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people, and your God will be my God. And where you die, I will die and there I will be buried. May the Gods do with me and more if anything but death parts you from me."

Horst smiled. "I give my word, as Justice of the Peace of the village of Carvahall, that this man and this woman are now joined in sacred ceremony as husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Roran leaned, kissing her soundly in the lips. The village erupted in wild cheers. "Dance!" shouted someone. Fisk picked up his flute, then started playing the normal wedding-march. Everyone joined partners and stood to dance again. Arya made to go.

"Wait ..." Eragon stopped her. "Will you not stay and celebrate with us?"

"No, Eragon. It is not my place."

"It is very much your place. You helped save Katrina and this marriage is because of you. Please stay?"

Arya wavered, unsure. He smiled. "May I have this dance, in any case?"

Against her better judgement, she agreed. "You may."

Eragon took her hand, less sure than before and led her to where the couples were all ready to dance. They stood around the fire; Arya did not notice the strange looks she was receiving.

"_A summer wing blew down on us, upon the grassy plains -"_ All the spectators sang; "_Before the town, we stood our pledge and made our solemn vows."_

Eragon placed his hands on Arya's slim waist and guided her through the steps; she knew nothing of these ways and so, with more than a little trepidation, she let him move her gently with the music.

"_I built a house for you, my wife, my love, my heart." _All the men sang gruffly.

The women carried on; _"You made a garden for me, my love, my heart, my other-half, so I could plant, in quiet peace, the flowers of the wild." _

Arya could hear the women around her singing with the tune, but she didn't know it.

"_The hearth I built, the bed we shared; the fire in the winter;"_ Eragon sang this line, along with the men. Arya could feel his breath on her ear. She held tighter onto his arm.

"_All these things, our children knew -"_ It was the women's turn. "-_I shared with you, and you with me." _

"_Small things changed us; small things made us – but we changed together!" _ Everyone cried together. Eragon laughed, then let go of her waist, grabbed her hands and twirled her; round and round they spun, the other couples a blur. Arya could hear him laughing, and, though she wasn't aware of it, she laughed as well.

When the world stopped spinning, they looked about; all the other couples were in the same dizzy state as them. Arya smiled at her partner, idly thinking of how tall he was, and he smiled back.

"Thank-you very much for the honour, Arya," he said courteously, though with a hint

of laughter in his voice.

"You are welcome ... I have enjoyed myself as well." And she had.

"Morn has some of his ale from Carvahall – do you want some?"

"Yes, please."

Eragon fought his way towards Morn, who was dishing out the ale in measured quantities. "Some for you and your lady-friend?" He asked cheekily.

Eragon snorted. "_No. _Now, can we have some ale, please?"

"Of course, Shadeslayer." Morn poured a careful amount of ale into a two wooden cups and gave them to Eragon, who carefully wended his way back through the boisterous friends.

"Here you are, Arya." He sat down where she was waiting on a tall bale of hay.

"Thank-you." She received the mug graciously.

"To Roran and Katrina," he lifted his cup; Arya knew enough of human customs to raise her cup and gently bang it against his.

"To Roran and Katrina," she echoed. "May they have a long and happy life together."

He raised his cup and drank it, she did as well, though more slowly. He lowered it and grinned. "Just like being at home."

Her lips twitched upward. "In what way?"

"The food, the people, the songs and the – well, the whole informality of it – and the company; actually," he amended, "not the company."

"What do you mean?"

"I am fairly sure you never came to the festivals in Carvahall."

He was teasing her, she could tell – but she didn't mind. "No, I don't believe I did. But I wish I had. Were they all like this?"

"Oh, yes, the songs and dancing, though _normally_ the Justice is informed beforehand if there is to be a wedding – the guests also tend to know."

She laughed at his comical expression. "What is the Justice?"

He looked at her in shock. "You don't know?"

She shook her head. "Seven decades I have been the elven ambassador but in all those years I have never come across anything like this, and if I had they would not have invited me to join in."

"I see. The Justice of the Peace is like a judge; he sees to the laws and the sentences of wrongdoers and performs marriages. He also has to supervise hangings."

"Hangings?! What do you mean?"

Eragon eyed her curiously. She always seemed so hard and unbreakable, but why was she so shocked at his statement? "Yes, hangings. There is -was- a small gallows and graveyard in a hollow of a mountain. The convicted ones are hung as humanely as possible, but it is nasty either way. Then they are buried nearby; it was decided long ago that those wicked enough to be hung do not deserve to be buried with good, law-abiding folk."

She looked shocked. "That is awful. Why were they hung?"

"Are you sure you want to know?"

Her face hardened. "I am not a child, Eragon."

He raised hand in defence. "I meant no offence. There were never any people hung in my lifetime, but one of the worst crimes, after murder, was to set the hay barn on fire; if that happened, all the fodder and one of our most important assets during winter would be gone. I believe a man was hung for that offence just before my mother arrived -" He broke off at the mention of his mother and fell silent.

"I ... find it hard to comprehend, Eragon, that is all. No amount of years will reconcile me to the strange ways of humans."

He laughed harshly. "You have done better than most of your folk, Arya."

"Annatar has acquitted himself well."

"In a few months!" he objected. "None of them ave yet achieved what you have."

She stiffened. "Eragon ..." she said warningly.

"I was merely making an observation. I meant no offence."

She nodded to show all was forgiven. "Then I thank-you. I would not give my experience for all the flowers of lost Ewayena."

"You do not regret your decision to take the Yawe?"

"I do not. I have helped the Varden immensely and the elven nation too, though they were slow to realise it."

"And now you have Niduen." He said this cautiously, not wanting to offend her again. She did not, however, seem to notice. Perhaps it was the ale.

"Yes, Niduen. We were great friends before my father died; inseparable. Then when he died her father separated all ties to the royal family and up and took Niduen to Osilon. She never sent word; I was all alone after that."

"Oh, Arya ..." he murmured, but she seemed not to notice and he knew that she did not ant his sympathy.

"It doesn't matter. She is back now – but I am gone. Still, the sun will carry on rising and setting no matter where certain members of the Royal family are." She jerked out of her reverie. "I'm sorry, Eragon, to start like that. Silly of me."

He nearly smiled; the ale was working on her a little bit. "It doesn't matter, and don't apologise." He was about to ask her something else, but a roar of laughter sounded from nearer the fire: Roran and Katrina were rising to leave.

Horst was congratulating the happy couple again and again; Fisk was playing a cheerful tune on his flute, while Tara and Birgit kissed Katrina on the cheek over and over again. Birgit looked a tiny bit wistful; Eragon remembered, with a twinge of sympathy, that Quimby had been dead six months now.

Eragon stood to greet his brother and new sister-in-law. Arya followed him to her feet. "Brother!" Eragon said heartily. They clasped hands, then Eragon turned to Katrina. "Congratulations, sister."

She smiled warmly. "Thank-you, _brother. _And thank-you, Arya, for coming to see our joining."

"It was my pleasure and honour," said Arya in a low voice. "You have my congratulations and best wishes, for you and your husband."

"Thank-you, Arya," said Katrina, which Roran echoed.

Morn crept up behind them. "Ah, go with your wife, Stronghammer. It is your wedding night, after all."

Arya stared coolly at the flushed man, but Eragon, Roran and Katrina seemed to be used to this and just waved the man off. "Goodnight, Morn." Katrina said firmly, then led her husband away. Eragon watched them go happily.

"Ah, I am happy for them. Roran deserves more happiness in his life than he has had of late."

"And what about you, Eragon?" She asked softly.

He jumped. "I ... am happy – why should I not be?"

She shook her head. "Never mind. Are you leaving now?"

"I am, I think. No one will notice for while. You?"

"If you are, I am!" she said quickly.

"Very good." They walked away from the fire and into the shadows where the narrow alleys of tents made it seem as close as a town.

They Arya's tent in companionable silence. "Goodnight, Eragon. Thank-you for the evening; it was very good fun."

"Ah, but you made it fun. You are an excellent dancer, my Lady."

She let this pass without comment, but no disapproval either. "Sleep well and long, Eragon."

"I am sure I will; we both will, I think."

She chuckled. "It was tiring, I admit - even for an elf."

"It was. But sleep well, Arya, and I will see you in the morning."

"I hope so." She ducked into her tent, fastening the door securely. He stared a moment, filled with joy at the time he had spent with her in civil and appropriate conversation, then carried on towards his own tent.

_I take it you had a good time, then, little one. _Saphira said to him as he undressed.

_I did. Wasn't the ceremony excellent? _

_It was. I feel happy for both of them; they deserve it. _

_That is what I said to Arya. _

_Arya? I take it you had a good time with her as well? _

_We did have fun; she is an interesting and clever person to talk to. _

_And dance with, _she teased.

_And dance with, _he agreed quietly.

Saphira snorted in annoyance. _There is no point talking to you when you are like this. _

_Like what?! _He asked indignantly, but she had severed their contact. He sighed, then, pulling his blankets over him, relaxed. It had been a very good day – but he was loosing the will power to stay awake. Sleep overtook him swiftly, though his dreams were full of a laughing, green-eyed, black-haired elf, who danced with him the whole night through.

--

Reviews really make me happy. And you want to keep me in a good mood, don't you...? Or else!! Ha, just kidding. But reviews would be nice. Humour me. I'm tired.


	24. The Grey Rescue

And once again, thank-you**_ SO_** much for the reviews!!! It just makes me so happy. 175 reviews is just mind-boggling. Enjoy this, please!!!

And for all who have reviewed, by most heartfelt gratitude. You rock!!

Oh, and my Jiriki/OC fic on Tad Williams is waiting to be read. Would someone do me the honour of reading and reviewing it? I don't have many, but credit goes to Silent Invictus for that.

Chapter Twenty-Four.

The Grey Rescue.

"He knows by now, if didn't by the time we left Surda; it is too risky to send a spy into the city itself." Jormundr said, leaning with Eragon and Nasuada over a large piece of parchment pinned onto the desk with two daggers.

"Ah, I think you're right, Jormundr. I just want to stop being just a thorn in his side; I want the Varden to really make him notice us!" she said vehemently.

"He **does** notice us; why else would he raise such a large army? Why would he send Murtagh? He recognises us as a real risk to him." said Eragon quietly.

"Perhaps; but if so, it is only because of you and Saphira, Eragon." Nasuada said wearily. "So we must now do what all through the last century the Varden have been doing; waiting watching for _his _next move."

"The elves," said Jormundr suddenly. "Wait for the elves, my Lady. When the have taken the other half of the empire, then we will move _together. _Maybe it will be possible to arrange a meeting with Islanzadi personally."

"The elven queen ..." said Nasuada absently. "Mm. You are right, Jormundr. So we wait. Curse it!" she burst out. "I feel so useless; sitting on a precipice waiting for the most important times of life – of all our lives – and I must sit still and twiddle my thumbs!"

Eragon watched her sympathetically, though he hid it well. "When we move, my Lady, it will to his destruction. He will not know what hit him."

Jormundr sniffed. "Brave words, Shadeslayer, brave words."

Eragon ignored him. What had Brom said? "_You cannot fight all the fools in the world; it's best just to do what they say then trick when them when they look away." _Smiling at this memory, he turned to Nasuada. "Don't cross bridges until you come to them. We still don't know what he will do; he may march on us here."

Jormundr grunted. "Aye, and many things can change in a short time. Don't go looking for trouble."

She smiled thinly. "Isn't that what we are all doing? All the Varden is fighting the most dangerous man in history. Trouble is something we have all learned to live with."

Jormundr sighed. He knew there was no arguing with Nasuada when she was in this sort of a mood. "By your leave, then, my Lady."

"Yes, yes. Tell Roran that I want Horst to come and see to Orrin's horses; they all seem to have lost at least _one _of their shoes."

"Yes, ma'am." He touched his hand to his forelock briefly and exited the wagon. Nasuada did not look up, but stared down at the map.

"So;" she breathed eventually. "Dras Leona is close to Uru'Baen ... do you think he might send Mur – the Red Rider to attack us?"

"I don't know ... to attack me, maybe, but not the whole camp; Thorn and his Rider are strong, but even they would not attack all of us like this; especially not with the elves." He smiled grimly. "See? He does fear us, in a way, fears what we can do. He doesn't know about the elves, he doesn't know our strength when we are all gathered together. We are more than just a thorn in his side."

She shrugged. "Yes, but we must march on him one day, I know. Still, Jormundr and you are right; I shouldn't cross bridges until I come to them." But Eragon could tell she would still lie awake at night, thinking about it.

"How are our supplies? I can safely tell you that all of Morn's -" He broke of abruptly as Saphira contacted him.

_Eragon, there is a disturbance outside: an assassin,I think, I have seen him! Guard Nasuada!_

"Eragon, what is it?" Nasuada said urgently, watching his face slowly dawn into horror.

"An assassin." he said shortly, then lifted his palm. It glowed silvery-blue in the dim wagon. "Stay still; let me cast more wards." He started talking under his breath in a foreign language. She felt her consciousness enveloped in a safe cocoon. It was at that moment that Saphira roared.

It was fierce, angry, but it had a touch of desperation in it. _He is in the crowds; I cannot catch him without diving into the crowds. Bar the wagon! The elves are coming. _

"He is coming." Eragon told Nasuada.

"What shall I do?" she asked, eyes wide.

"Get your sword and _hide." _

She belted on her sword, but didn't move. "I will not hide."

"It is your life that is at stake." He warned. She stood firm. "All right. Stand back."

_Eragon, he is powerful! All the soldiers are being kept at bay by some magic!_

_Dark magic. _

_He's coming!_

The cloth door of the wagon burst open. A black-clad figure, tall, body glowing with some ward, stood framed in the light. He walked in slowly.

"So this the Shadeslayer that will overthrow the King?" he had a strange melodious voice; Eragon snarled at him.

"Quiet, slave, and leave! We do not acknowledge the Black King here."

"No, I know. That is why I am here. To leave you traitors with something to remember." The glow around him intensified.

"Fine words coming from one lower than even the drunkards of Uru'Baen!" The assassin twitched; apparently he didn't like having his honour questioned. Eragon saw this and pressed the point. "I suppose in Uru'Baen you are the King's lapdog? Sitting at his side to harass his enemies? How noble."

This time the assassin snarled. He pulled his lips back from his teeth in a feral snarl. "You will pay for that, dragon-scum!" He launched himself towards Nasuada. Eragon raised his hand, the silver glowing so brightly it would have blinded a human. The words were on his lips ...

"Stop." The assassin stopped in mid-air, unable to move; only his eyes moved in panic. Another two shapes had entered the wagon. One tall and thin, but obviously an elderly lady; the other tall as well, but male and strong. "There have always been usurpers in this land," said the woman sorrowfully, "none of them ever reckon with those older than time itself. Always they take things over; then we have to choose our side, few though we are. Ajihad made his choice. We are here to fulfil our debt. We cannot do that while you are here. You are waste to be disposed of." And without any visible command, the assassin crumpled on the floor, dead.

The two figures came closer. Eragon lifted his palm again, ready to incapacitate them. Nasuada stepped forward. "Who are you? Speak now, or it will be the last thing you say."

"You wouldn't harm an old woman, now, would you?"

"Step into the light, both of you." Eragon said, cold and courteous.

They did; Eragon stared, magic glowing brighter with his shock, while Nasuada gripped at her dagger. Both had skin dark as Nasuada; the old woman's black hair had streaks of silver, while the man's was shoulder length and just as black.

"Who are you?" demanded Nasuada angrily. "What trick are you from Galbatorix?"

The man narrowed his eyes. "Ajihad and Lananda's daughter you may be, but you should guard your tongue, young one." His voice was accented in a way that made his S's heavy and vowels deep. Eragon felt Nasuada sway beside him.

"What do you mean?" she sounded as if her world was crashing down around her ears. "Explain yourselves."

The woman eyed her shrewdly. "Explain what, Nasuada? I have learned an awful lot in my long life."

"Explain about ... Lananda."

The woman smiled indulgently. "It must come as a shock; we were going to wait a little before mentioning her. Of course, that was before we learned of the assassin." She reached out to Nasuada's hand. She pulled her hand out of reach, watching the older woman with wide eyes.

"It's all right, Nasuada, I won't hurt you." She frowned. "But you, Rider, how can we trust you?"

Eragon curled his lip. "The question is, actually, can we trust you?"

The woman sighed. "You really are more organised than I would have imagined. I am Hyelda, this is my son, Azhborn. We come to help you. May we sit down? I have not been challenged in this way for a while; I am tired." Nasuada nodded, saying nothing. The woman walked to stool, which seemed to spring into her hand. Hyelda sat at the table with the map of Alagaesia on it, hands folded. Eragon and Nasuada made no move to sit down.

Azhborn also sat, dragging a stool to the table as well. Hyelda gestured for them to sit down. Nasuada stared at her like she was insane. "You have not answered my question. Who are you and what are you doing here?"

Hyelda nodded briskly. "You truly are you parents daughter -" Nasuada shook at the mention of her parents. Eragon could not tell whether it was of anger or fright. Hyelda carried on. "As I said, we are friends."

"The Varden have dealt with traitors and liars since it was founded; We know how to deal with them. Prove to us that you are friends."

Hyelda sighed yet again. "If I must. '_Iya fricai un i.'"_ she said. Nasuada looked to Eragon to ask if it was a genuine statement.

"It is. It means, 'I am a friend to you'" he answered shortly.

Hyelda watched in interestedly. "You really inspire loyalty in you followers, don't you, Nasuada?"

Eragon growled. "It not your place to say. Answer Lady Nasuada's questions."

She looked Nasuada straight in the eyes. "I knew your mother and father. Lananda was the sweetest of our folk. I was grievously wounded to hear of her death." Nasuada looked stricken. She sank down onto a stool next to Hyelda.

"What?" she whispered.

"Your father never knew the extent of our powers; they left us to help the Varden; in the end in killed her. We thought you had died as well, little one." Hyelda reached out to touch Nasuada's face. This time, she did not pull away. They watched each other; Eragon, shocked at what he was hearing, opened his mind to Saphira.

_Little one, the elves are coming; what is happening? _

_I'm not sure ... tell the elves not to enter; we are fairly safe, I think. Listen in, Saphira. _She extended herself so that she could listen to the conversation, and what she heard shocked her.

"How do you know my mother, Hyelda?" Nasuada said, trembling.

"No one ever told you, did they?"

"Told me what?!"

"About your people."

"My people are the Varden," said Nasuada stiffly.

"No, no. Who you _are, _where you come from." Hyelda seemed determined to speak in riddles.

"My father and mother fled the Empire when I was a baby. My mother was killed by a band of Urgals."

"Ah, but you see ... your mother was not human - not in the way that all the others here are." Nasuada made sudden movement, in pain or rage it was impossible to tell. "Your mother was not from the exiled human King Palancar's boats. She was of a race that is as old as the very bones of the earth – and so are you; so am I, so is Azhborn. We are of the Grey Folk."

Eragon breathed out sharply. "No ..." Nasuada pulled herself away from the old woman.

"Explain yourself!" She cried, face twisted, eyes flashing.

"The Grey Folk were here before the elves, the fish-coloured humans from across the sea, even the dwarves are younger than us; we had a mighty empire. It stretched from the furthest corners of the Beors Mountains to the furthest reaches of the Changing Plains. But then came the great Unveiling." Azhborn spoke with feeling, emotion colouring his words.

"The Grey Folk were an old people. We used magic without words, by thought alone. Powerful we were, strong as oak trees, free as the wind. But all things come to an end; all Empires must fail.

"We realised that we were waning. The way we used magic, wordless and with only our strength of mind, was slowly draining us. The dwarves took control of the Mountains; the Dragons turned upon each other on their stormy islands. Magic was changing our world." Hyelda spoke, eyes bright with old memories.

"So we gathered all our people. From the furthest corners of Old Enanaza, they came. We knew what we must do; after months of council, of plotting our magic, we were ready. We spoke the Words of Great Change." Hyelda was speaking as if in a dream, eyes full of lost dreams.

"The words of Great Change were so powerful, so all-consuming, that even we could not withstand them. When we spoke them it turned the very nature of this world upside-down. The green plains of Istarnim were turned into hot, scorching deserts. The Beor mountains shrunk in size. The Forest of Animan was changed into a treacherous peat-bog. The earth of the Changing Plains was made so fertile that even the rarest of plants flourished there – that was why the elves made their home there, when they came. But the biggest change of all was to magic. It was possible to say words, in the Language we had always known and used, and to activate the magic. The language also now had the strange asset of not allowing any person to speak a lie while they spoke in that tongue.

"But what happened to the Grey Folk?" Asked Eragon. Hyelda turned her dark eyes on him.

"Ah, I see your masters in your ways," she said mysteriously, before turning back to Nasuada. Eragon was speechless for shock. What did she mean?! Did she know about Oromis?! But Hyelda was talking again.

"The Grey Folk withered. We were left nearly powerless. The men lost their magic, while the women weakened. When King Palancar came over the ocean, we lived with them, breeding with them. But some of us still kept within out ancient families and so the power of these few slowly returned, the knowledge of what happened to our race passed on through the millennia. And now we come to help you in your fight against Galbatorix." Hyelda looked Nasuada in the eyes. "We can teach you, little one, make you powerful, show you a way to win. Lananda loved you so much; she would want the best for her daughter."

Nasuada strived within herself, heart pounding, head roaring. "Tell me ... tell me about my mother; why did she flee? Where did she come from?"

"She came from Teirm, like us. She loved the ocean. When there was a storm, she would stand outside, watching the lighting and the waves. Her magic always connected with storms the best; she even made songs to emulate them to egg them on." Nasuada's eyes widened. "She fled the Empire with your father because they wanted to help, to overthrow Galbatorix. She looked just like you – but for your eyes; you have your fathers eyes."

Nasuada stood up shakily. "Wait here." She went to a cupboard in the corner and rummaged around. Finally, she brought out a small, dark box. "Here." She put it on the table. Reaching inside the neck of her shirt, she pulled out a small silver key on a chain and fitted the key into the box, then opened the lid. A fragrance like wildflowers wafted from it. Hyelda watched silently.

"This is the only thing I have of my mothers. There are some songs in another language and some drawings and other things; my father taught me the language everything is written in and sometimes ..." Nasuada trailed off. Hyelda leaned forward eagerly.

"May I look at it?" Hyelda took the little box, running her fingers over it. "This is older than any other of our artefacts. Keep it, Nasuada, and treasure it."

"I will," she answered locking the box back up and hiding the key under her shirt again. "Now," the briskness of her voice was returning, "Hyelda, tell me what you and you son are doing here."

Hyelda smiled; Azhborn raised an eyebrow. "Well, didn't you understand us? We are here to teach you, Nasuada."

"Teach me what?" asked Nasuada sharply.

"How to use your powers, little one; you are the first child of the pure descendants of the Grey Ones. You more power than most elves, child. So we will teach you."

"Again, what will you teach me?" Hyelda's eyes glittered under her dark brows.

"Your element is Storm. We will teach you control that element, to use wordless magic and to connect with nature itself."

Nasuada clutched at her hair. "And I inherited this ... this power from my mother?"

"That is the gist of it, yes. You will, of course, develop your own way of controlling you magic."

Nasuada stared at the old woman. "I am grateful for your help with the assassin, Hyelda, but would you please give me time to think over this? I will doubtless have more questions for you in the morning. Come outside, now, and I will find you both places to stay." She stood, her posture as strong an unbreakable as ever, and but for the look in her eyes, she seemed as cool and calm and in-control as ever. Eragon frowned.

"That is very kind of you, Nasuada, and we will take you up on our offer; but there is one more thing we have for you." Azhborn said gravely. He drew a sword from a slender scabbard at his waist – Eragon had not noticed it before, somehow, – and gave it to Nasuada. She would not take it, but merely looked at it, so Azhborn laid it on the table.

"This is Naidel." Hyelda pushed it towards Nasuada. "It was your mothers."

Eyes wide, finger trembling, Nasuada took the hilt of the slender sword; Eragon stared at it in fascination. It was bright silver, the hilt wonderfully worked into twisting, meandering patterns, pale blue jewels set in each little silver knot. The blade itself was thin, sharp and deadly. So bright it was that it gleamed in the dim light of the wagon, it seemed to fit into Nasuada's hand as if it was made for her. A series of small runes were set into the very top of the blade. "Naidel ..." whispered Nasuada wonderingly. "She's beautiful."

"She was you mothers pride and joy," said Azhborn with satisfaction, apparently pleased with the way Nasuada was treating the sword. "Naidel is the last of her kind; with her, you will be nearly indestructible in battle. Use her well."

"I will," she vowed, eyes never leaving the beautiful weapon.

"Think on what we have offered you, Nasuada, but know that we mean no harm at all." Hyelda said. Nasuada smiled a little.

"I believe you, I think, Hyelda. But now, surely you want to sleep?"

"It would be gracious of you, Nasuada."

"Very well. Come, then." She stood and, Azhborn and Hyelda following her, left the tent. Outside, it was dark. A light drizzle was slowly soaking everything. Thirteen figures stood, hooded and cloaked, around the wagon.

"Is everyone safe, Shadeslayer?" asked the tallest one.

Eragon knew that voice. "We are fine, Annatar. What is the time?"

If he was surprised by this question, he did not show it. "The sun set two hours ago, Shadeslayer. We have been waiting." Eragon could see that he was burning to know what had happened; but was it was not his place to tell him.

"The assassin is dead. He will need removing and burying."

"It will be done," said the elf shortly. Two more elves – Eragon recognised them as Larna and An'ai – immediately left for the wagon; Nasuada was giving orders.

"Jormundr, please get two tents for our guests. I want half of D–watch assigned to their pavilion as well." Jormundr jumped to attention and left, happy that Nasuada was safe.

Two tents were assembled next to each other, all in Nasuada's pavilion. Azhborn seemed to have little say, and so wished Eragon and Nasuada goodnight and went, without further ado, into his tent. Hyelda waited a little longer, though. She hugged Nasuada, whispering a few words in ear; then she turned to Eragon.

"I will want to see that dragon of yours tomorrow." She said to Eragon.

"You might, if she wishes it; if she doesn't, no force in Alagaesia will make her." He stiffly.

"Oh, I know that, Rider. I have met a few dragons in my day. But tell me, what are your names?"

"I expect you will find that out tomorrow, if you see us, we will tell you then."

She looked at him with darkling eyes. "Strong name, powerful name; old is new, though the era is gone." Eragon started with surprise. "My senses tell me strange things about you, Rider. I look forward to knowing you better. Goodnight."

He said his farewells to her as well, then left the pavilion; his tent was close by and he was tired.

Rounding a corner, he heard someone coming, ever so quietly. He reached out his mind to find it was Arya. When she stepped out into the light, he was standing opposite her.

"Eragon?"

"Yes?" She was pale; her eyes were wide and even her hair was lying flat on her skull from the drizzle that was falling steadily. "What is it?" he asked, alarmed.

"I have just had a dove from Evadarr. You are needed back in Ellesmera; Oromis is dying."

--


	25. On the Crags of Tel'naeir

Ok, a few important announcements: 1) This story is now on Shurtugal as well: http ://www. shurtugal. com/ fan fiction/ view story. Php?sid10973 Just take away the spaces. But don't tell anyone it's here as well! Or they'll read it here and it won't surprise them. Thanks!

I know everyone wants me to pair Eragon with Arya right now...but it's not gonna happen in the near future!! And in the end I might pair him with someone else as well...

I know some people didn't like the last chapter...but believe me, it is ESSENTIAL for the plot. Nasuada is not going to turn into a Mary Sue and please don't stop reading. Kay?

Arya does NOT KNOW ABOUT BROM AND ERAGON! Thank-you.

I had to do the start twice and I had a hard time doing the rest as well. Enjoy!

Chapter Twenty-Five.

On the Crags of Tel'naeir.

Islanzadi sipped a warm peppermint tea and sighed, satisfied with their work. They were coming to Gil'ead. It was a well-defended city; they should be outside the walls in a matter of weeks. The elves marched well and seemed, almost, to be looking forward to a fight.

There was a disturbance outside. The voices that had been singing around the camp-fires were raised in as close to argument as the elves could get; Islanzadi rose, a faint frown on her smooth brow. But as she neared the flap of her tent, it was pushed gently aside, revealing a Lord Dathedr. His face was as unemotional as ever, but he held in his hand a snow-white dove. Islanzadi felt a cold hand grip her heart. Was it Arya? Had she been hurt? Or ... or killed? Her daughter, her only child ...

"Your majesty," murmured the elf-lord. "We have had news from Lady Niduen, in Ellesmera. She sent this, for you."

Islanzadi took the note from him, spinning slightly; if the note was about Arya it would not be from Niduen ... she lowered her eyes to read it. It was weather-stained and the ink had smudged. Niduen's graceful handwriting was slightly askew, as if it had been written in hurry. With a terrible, foreboding feeling, Islanzadi read:

_Dear Queen; I regret to inform you that this crescent-eve, our beloved Elda, last scion of the house Thrandurin, fell ill. He asks for Eragon Shadeslayer in what I know to be are his last days. I ask you, as sovereign and as my kin, to contact Eragon and request that he travel back to Ellesmera. It is more urgent than any could know. _

_Yours,_

_Niduen Drottningu. _

Islanzadi read it again, a profound feeling of relief clouding her mind. She turned back to Dathedr. "Bring me another dove, the most reliable you have." When he returned, holding yet another dove, she already had a note waiting for the Varden.

Dathedr tied the note to the birds leg, then, walking out of the tent, he let it go. It fluttered wildly for a moment, then set off in the right direction. Islanzadi re-entered her tent. "Is all well outside?"

Dathedr bowed his head. "Yes, Queen." At that moment, a chorus of dismayed and frightened elven voices rang out.

"_Wyrdfell!"_

"_The Wyrdfell have risen again!"_

The elven camp was risen to wakefulness. Islanzadi rushed outside, followed by Dathedr.

"My Queen!" cried someone. "A Red Rider, one of the Wyrdfell, had passed over us!"

"No ..." whispered Islanzadi. Beside her, Dathedr was issuing orders.

"All archers fire at my call!" A few dozen bows were strung. All eyes turned to the sky. Gliding above them was a huge black shadow. It's claws, illuminated in the fire, gleamed sharp and fell. The rider was garbed in black armour, a red sword at his hip.

"Fire!" cried Dathedr. A hail of strong arrows from sung-wood bows twanged, but all clattered harmlessly at least a metre away from the dragon and Rider. Islanzadi gathered her wits and cried out:

"Fire! Shoot until he is out of range!" and the elves did so. Islanzadi herself, touched, ever so gently, on the Riders mind. The foulness and cruelty palpable even through his closely guarded mind made her recoil. "Foul creature," she muttered. "Fire!" again more arrows followed the dragon; but he was now out range and sight.

She cursed under her breath. "Dathedr," she said calmly, "get me another dove."

--

Arya watched Eragon throw Saphira's saddle over her shoulders, then strap the martingale through her front legs and up her chest. His movements were easy and well-practiced, but Arya could tell that he was not really thinking of the task at hand. But, for that matter, she was not that interested in their departure either.

Nasuada watched Eragon with a distracted expression the probably stemmed from the two dark-skinned people standing behind her; Roran was watching with an expressionless face. Arya knew he thought that Eragon was irresponsible to leave; but then, Roran had no knowledge of Oromis.

"Have you got enough food?" asked Eragon, clambering down from Saphira.

"I have." She said coolly, swinging her pack onto her shoulder. He nodded, seeming unabashed by her cool tone.

"Sit behind me; we may encounter some enemies and it is safer that way."

Biting back a retort, she climbed up onto Saphira. Nasuada had said her farewells to Arya already, and was now talking to Eragon quietly and seriously. Arya tapped her leg impatiently, though that was the only sign of discontent she showed. Nasuada had stepped forward and hugged Eragon tightly. Arya raised her eyebrows slightly; perhaps there was something in the rumour of a relationship between the two. For some reason, this made Arya vaguely uncomfortable.

Katrina and Roran were now saying their goodbyes, Roran joking with Eragon; he provoked Eragon into answering back and they had good sparring with words session, Eragon seeming to forget his worry over Oromis, though eventually he shouldered his pack and got up onto Saphira in front of her.

_We will go on a very wide route around Uru'Baen. Galbatorix will likely have **very **extensive spies and scouts; if we are caught..._Saphira trailed off, then leaped into the air. Arya could feel that she was distracted. Eragon too was sitting deep in the saddle, but he was not showing any signs of wanting to talk.

There was a sudden buffet of wind; Arya grabbed onto Eragon quickly. He stiffened, but she let go immediately. Silently wishing that she could merely put her head on his shoulder and sleep, she sighed. They had a long way to go and and little time in which to do it.

--

Arya furrowed her brow in irritation as the wind blew her hair around her face. The desert was cold at night, but scorching in the day. They were camped underneath a small mountain in the Hardarac Desert. Even in the mountain's shelter, it was nasty. Sighing with exasperation, Arya pulled a leather band around her head; able to see through her hair now, she busied herself with rolling out her bedroll. There would be no fire, as they didn't want to attract attention to themselves from unpleasant desert creatures.

"Roll the tops of your boots up and turn them upside down in you pack," said Eragon suddenly; he had said little since leaving the Varden and he surprised her now.

"I'm sorry?" she questioned.

"Scorpions and other beetles might take a liking to them," he explained abruptly.

Raising her eyebrows, she asked evenly; "Who told you this?"

Not seeming to notice her slight jab at his credibility, he answered from where he was extracting some food from the saddlebags. "Murtagh told me when we were travelling with you to the Varden. He knew a lot of things like that."

Vexed with herself for being so cold, she replied quietly, "he must have known a great many things."

"Yes, though I got to know little of them; for someone from Galbatorixs' sheltered court he was remarkably good at looking after himself."

"Well, quite," Arya said.

"Are you thirsty?"

"A little ... why do you ask? I have a water-skin."

"It's best to save the water-skins for emergencies." Moving closer towards her, he lifted his palm slightly. "Last time we came through this desert we got water by raising it from the earth." Making a fair-sized whole with his heel in the sand, he said in the ancient language; "_Reisa Adurna._"

Water started welling up, rising slowly, until if formed shimmering globe of clear water. Eragon nodded, apparently satisfied. "Take as much as you want; when you are done, it will refill itself."

When Arya had drunk her fill, Eragon sitting cross-legged opposite her, he leaned down as well to drink. Splashing it over his face and ears, he then drank from it awhile, before standing up again for Saphira.

Saphira took two long draughts, then told them tersely that she was going hunting and would be back before the morning. Arya watched her go with a contemplative expression. Both dragon and Rider were obviously worried and stressed about Oromis. Eragon was now sitting on his bedroll, human hunting knife, which, she had noticed, he carried everywhere and had since she'd known him, carving a piece of wood.

She wrapped her blanket around her and lay down; when she slept, Eragon was still awake and watchful.

--

The green fringe of Ellesmera was in view; Arya felt her heart lift at the sight. Eragon didn't seem to have noticed and was just the same as he had been all day. Saphira flew high above the forest, faster and faster until the momentum she gained was carrying them along so fast that the ground was an impossible blur. Well-guarded though all three of the travellers' minds were, Arya could feel worry and urgency in Saphira's mind; Eragon was focussing so hard on Ellesmera that he failed to notice the approaching dark.

_We should stop to camp, Eragon._

_But we are so close! _

_It is not wise to linger outside of cities after dark. _

He grudgingly agreed and they descended somewhere north of Kirtan. Glad that this time, at least, they would be able to have a fire, Arya quickly began a meal. Eragon went to collect firewood. They had developed a routine through all the travelling they together.

When the food had been cooked and eaten with enjoyment of a warm meal, they sat back. Eragon looked marginally more relaxed than he had been so far.

"When we get to Ellesmera go straight to Oromis. I will find Niduen and tell her what has happened."

"Thank-you, Arya," said Eragon gratefully. He stared at the fire. "Roran thought I should not leave, but I could not leave him to die alone."

"Well, you are right. Roran does not understand."

"No ... and Katrina would not let him bother us." Eragon smiled. "Nasuada, though ..." he left the sentence unfinished.

Arya tensed at the mention of Nasuada. "What about Nasuada?" she asked slowly.

He eyed her speculatively. She was taken aback by his keen gaze. The Eragon she knew would not have looked at her like that, ever. He had become a very powerful, self-assured man, not the farm-boy that had rescued her from Durza. Thoughts a little confused, she realised Eragon was still watching her. At length, he spoke. "Did you have chance to talk to Hyelda and Azhborn?"

Arya shivered almost imperceptibly. "The Grey Folk. Yes, a little. Strange woman, isn't she?"

Eragon chuckled. "Yes, she is. But I was there when the assassin came and when she killed the assassin as well. She told Nasuada a lot of things about her mother, and the slender sword she now carries was her mothers. So much weighs on her mind."

"I have noticed ... she is young, even by human standards." said Arya. "I was ambassador for over half a century before she was even born."

A flicker of smile graced Eragon's face. "The mortal in me, Arya, thinks that you should be well into retirement now."

Arya crossed her arms. "What do you mean, 'retirement'?"

"Nothing bad!" he said quickly. "But at sixty - if they get that old – the men of Carvahall like to sit on the verandah with a pipe and plenty of pipe-weed and tell stories of their youth."

She chuckled. "Are you comparing me to an old mortal man?"

"No ..." he replied "... elves do not smoke."

She nearly gaped at him for that jest. _Was_ this Eragon she knew? "You, Argetlam, will be old one day and for a very long time; perhaps you should start practising the art of pipe-weed now?" she said artfully.

"Oh no," he said seriously, "I couldn't afford it."

She thought she had misheard. "Sorry?"

"I couldn't afford it," he repeated. "The weed is very expensive, even if I did had a mind to start."

"You couldn't _afford_ it?"

He looked at her strangely. "That is what I said. I do not have much money and pipe-weed is expensive; not that I would want to start smoking in any case."

"Not enough money," said Arya in wonder. "I would never have thought that."

Eragon smiled slightly. "People imagine that I have plenty to spare; in reality, I have ten silver marks in a small bag."

Arya leaned towards that fire a little bit more. "What do you plan on using those for?"

He shrugged. "I don't need it. I like to forget about it most of the time."

"Ten silver marks is not much though, is it?"

"If I was at home," he said gravely, "ten silver marks would have bought us meat for the whole winter." He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Actually, Saphira paid for a whole winters' worth of meat."

"_What!_?" said Arya in amazement.

He grinned at her response. "I thought Saphira's egg was a nice, shiny stone that someone would pay for – enough to buy meat for the winter."

"You sold your dragons' egg?"

"Well ... tried to. But Sloan wouldn't have it because it came from the Spine; he made a fuss. Katrina got Horst and Horst paid for the meat in exchange for me working for him the next spring."

"Eragon ..." said Arya, at a loss for words. "If you ... sold your dragons egg!" she laughed, leaning back. Eragon watched her solemnly until he joined her as well.

"I am glad you think it so funny,. Arya Svit-Kona," he said. She peered at him over her blanket, green eyes sparkling.

"I do, Argetlam." She was struck by a sudden thought. "You look like Brom, crouching over the fire like that." He stiffened immediately.

"I ... wouldn't be surprised, Arya," he said slowly. She looked at him curiously, but Eragon did not have a chance to elaborate; Saphira arrived, claws showing hints of blood.

_Hello, young ones, _she said in some surprise. _I expected you to be both asleep. _

_We were expecting **you **__later. _Said Eragon.

_The prey in Du Weldenvarden is easier to catch at night than I expected. Very tasty too. _

Arya winced, but Eragon laughed. _Please do not continue with a description, Saphira. _

_I was not going to. _Her mood had not lightened and Eragon realised that.

_Will you sleep now, Saphira?_

_Yes, I will. Sleep well, both of you. _

Arya wished her goodnight as well, and the dragon curled up, just beyond the light of the fire.

"We should do likewise," said Eragon to her. She nodded.

"You sleep well too, Eragon." Lying down and pulling her blanket over her, she watched Eragon do the same. Arya marvelled at the change in him. The young boy she had accompanied to Ellesmera last time had not been the young _man _lying opposite her. Self-assured and strong, Eragon had changed.

"Goodnight Arya," he said.

She smiled at him and they slept in companionable peace.

--

It was Ellesmera. Sung-wood houses, as much a part of the forest as the trees and scrub, peered from every tree. But no elves came to meet them; indeed, they met no one at all.

"I will go to Tialdari Hall, Eragon. You go to the Crags." She said tightly. "Go on!"

Eragon caught her eyes. "Thank-you, Arya. I will not forget this."

"Go on, now. He needs you both." She said quietly, holding back her emotions.

He nodded ever so slightly, and Saphira took off again. Arya took a deep breath, watching the dragons powerful wing-beats, then turned abruptly to find Niduen or one of the elf-lords.

--

Eragon leapt from Saphira and ran down to where Oromis was lying against his dragon. He was pale, even paler than normal and thin as well. Glaedr was curled up, protecting his Rider. When Eragon approached, Oromis opened his almond-eyes.

"Eragon." He said quietly. "How was your journey?"

"Fine, master," said Eragon. He knelt down and took his masters' hand.

"These are my last hours, Eragon," he said. "And there is much to tell you."

"Master ..."

"No, Eragon. You ... asked me, once, how Galbatorix has so much power." he took a rattling breath and continued. "He takes his energy from those he kills ... no, not from them, exactly, but from the ... Vault of Souls."

Eragon stared. "The Vault ...?"

Oromis nodded. "The Vault collects souls of everyone who has died. Once they have passed through the Vault, they vanish. No one knows where they go or what happens to them after that. It is something that no one should, a door that should not be opened. But Galbatorix ..." Oromis trailed off, drawing a deep breath. "... Galbatorix was trained by a Shade. The Shade gave him powers enough to tap...to tap into the Vault of Souls."

Glaedr shivered as they both fell silent in agony. Oromis' face was screwed up in pain.

_Every time Galbatorix kills, he is granted the ability to take that persons soul out of the Vault and imprison it in himself, in cave in his twisted mind. Each soul is bound with nature. Through this, Galbatorix can do the impossible. He can draw, limitedly, on the very core of the earth. In ... _Glaedr roared as another wave of agony swept through him. _In another hundred years, the earth will start to change ... that is all we, the elves, know. _

Saphira rushed to Glaedr's side, standing by his shoulder. Eragon's eyes burned. "But why has nothing happened to Alagaesia yet?"

_Because he is drawing power from a land across the sea ... Alalea, the home of the elves. No one knows, of course, in what state that land is in; but doubtless it is not good. _

Eragon felt disgusted. "He draws from people's souls? People that he has killed?"

Oromis nodded slightly at his reaction. "That is the reason only a select few of the elves know. It would scare most of the Varden too much ... Ugh!" He grunted as his body tensed with another spasm.

_The Vault of Souls is located on Utgard Mountain. _Saphira growled in surprise._ Sources say that, earlier, before the Battle of the Burning Plains, a red dragon with a rider garbed in black visited the Palancar Valley. He went to Utgard, and spent many hours there. When he returned ... _Glaedr stopped and Oromis carried on.

"When he returned he used his new-found 'power' to destroy the town of Therinsford and most of it's inhabitants. I ... am sorry, Eragon."

Eragon clenched his fist. "Do not be, master. He will have his comeuppance."

Oromis coughed. "This is terrible news, Eragon, I know. You are strong, very strong! but not enough to resist two riders using this power. I cannot see what will happen to you and Saphira, Eragon. My sight is clouded down that path."

Glaedr peered at them solemnly. _Out time has come, young ones. We will soon depart from this world. I am glad to know that you, Saphira, and you, Eragon, will be the ones to carry on the Riders after us. Go well and live as best you can. _

Eragon bowed his head, his masters hand still clasped in his own. Oromis closed his eyes, chest rising and falling slowly. Glaedr moved his tail so that it encircled his Rider completely. A gust of wind blew a flurry of noise towards him. Niduen and Arya were coming down to the Crags. They stopped dead at the sight of Eragon bowed over his masters form, hand clasping the hand of the old elf, who was calmly breathing in and out as if he was only meditating.

"Oromis ..." breathed Niduen. She had known this time was coming and had been preparing herself for it. Arya said nothing. Eragon was bowed with grief and misery, while his master was slowly floating, gently and gracefully, out of their world. Arya could almost feel his grief.

The sun sank low in the sky. Eragon did not move, but stayed by his masters side, watching the elf's peaceful face. Slowly, as the sun sank beneath the tree-line, Oromis' breathing slowed. Less and less his chest rose, until it stopped altogether. Glaedr opened his huge jaws in utter agony as he felt his Rider dying. Then is head flopped down to the mossy floor and he was silent.

Eragon knew they were gone. His face streamed with tears; Saphira moaned low in her throat, a melody that matched all three's shocked grief. A gust of wind blew some leaves across Glaedr's still form. Saphira roared loudly, pain and misery and anguish in every tone. And the inhabitants of Ellesmera heard and knew that dragon and Rider had passed.

And so it was, that, at sunset of that sorrowful day on the Crags of Tel'naeir , Oromis and Glaedr, last Scions of the House of Thrandurin, Riders of a past age, ended their lives and passed into the void.

--


	26. Freedom and Burning Light

This chapter is important – but. I have modified chapter three, the part with Trevor. Please, PLEASE read that again before going on to this chapter. Please.

Things really get moving here. But skip to Chapter Three NOW!

Thank-you so, so, so much for reviewing. I am so touched that you all take the time to do so. Thank-you!

Chapter Twenty-Six. 

Freedom and Burning Light.

Gil'ead city was dark and quiet. All at once, the elven spellcasters reach out their minds, searching for enemy mages, defence machines and guards. Islanzadi felt, far away from the walls, at the centre of the city, a strange presence. She recoiled in shock, then reached out again. There it was ...

_Green eye, white claw . Dark imprisonment. _

Islanzadi threw up barriers at the way the presence touched her mind, though without meaning to. It scared her, yet fascinated her. She tentatively touched the thing again.

A ward was suddenly erected around the tower. Islanzadi was thrown back into her own mind. Murtagh was there ... and Thorn ...

_Tunnels; far sight; age-old wisdom. _

Islanzadi gasped.

_No, no ... it couldn't be ..._

--

Saphira laid her head on the soft blankets of her bed and closed her eyes slowly. Eragon was sitting on his bed, slowly falling asleep. She moved her head slightly, watching the fire she had lit just a few minutes ago dance and flicker merrily. She remembered being taught to project her fire by Glaedr, being shown how execute a perfect back-roll, being berated for letting her guard down. Saphira curled her tail in misery.

So much to do, so much to think about ... surrounded by bitter-sweet memories and gaping sorrow, Saphira slipped into a heavy slumber.

_After hundreds of years, there was movement. A white claw, tiny tooth. Old as mountains, young as spring. Small space, so much time ... _

Saphira woke from her dream; but she knew, instantly, through the instinctive ways of her race, what had happened.

_Eragon, wake up. _He was up in seconds, searching for the source of the disturbance.

_What is it?_

_The last dragon egg; it is moving. _

_--_

Tialdari Hall was strangely quiet. All the elves seemed to be at home in the tree-houses.

"Eragon!"

Eragon turned to see Arya and Niduen hurrying towards him. They both looked anxious. "What is it?" he asked quickly.

"Murtagh has led an attack on the elven camp," Niduen said gravely. "He does not fight with ordinary soldiers either. All of them are highly trained and powerful mages. They all take their power from the Vault of Souls and are incredibly powerful. The elves are currently under siege."

"But that is not all," said Arya grimly. She held the pommel of her sword tightly. "Eragon, he is carrying the last dragon egg."

Eragon closed his eyes briefly. He should have known. "Saphira has just felt something reaching out to her. She thinks it was the egg as well."

Arya gestured for the other two to sit down on a nearby bench, before she joined them. She faced Eragon, her eyes solemn and sad. "If my mothers army is defeated then nearly all hopes of the Varden winning are slim. But what can we do?!"

Eragon dropped his head, thinking hard. "Saphira and I need to be there."

Niduen's eyes widened. "You said yourself that you cannot match Murtagh's power. And he will capture you this time, Eragon. He will hold nothing back."

"You are right, Niduen." Eragon sighed angrily. _What can we do, Saphira? _

She growled as well. _Our problem is that we do not have enough power! But what – _she broke of abruptly.

_Saphira? What is it? _

_Remember what Oromis said? The Vault of Souls gives Galbatorix extra power - and power is what we need ... _

_No! _said Eragon, shocked. _Are you saying we should become like him? Use it as a - _

_No, that is not what I mean! Solembum told us about it as well. **When all seems lost, go to the Rock of Kuthian and speak your name to open the Vault of Souls. **_

_And you think we should do that? _

She swayed uneasily. _I do not want my mind to be haven of dead souls, I do not wish to be like him and his servants. But if Islanzadi dies and all her army then so does all our hope. I do not believe that Solembum would give us bad advice either. What do you say? _

Eragon blinked and looked back at Arya and Niduen. "Saphira and I have decided to go to the Vault of Souls." Niduen drew breath sharply. Arya stiffened, hair fluttering about her face in the breeze.

"What do you mean?" she asked sharply.

Eragon hesitated, unwilling to tell Niduen, good as she was. Fortunately, Niduen noticed.

"I will leave now, cousin," she pressed two fingers to her lips, then disappeared into a bunch of ferns to their left. Arya turned to Eragon.

"What is to you wanted to tell me?" she asked quietly. Eragon looked into her eyes. They were worried, deep down.

"Solembum ... Solembum told us something, the first time we met him and Angela, when we were in Teirm. He said 'When all seems lost, go to the Rock of Kuthian and speak your name to open the Vault of Souls.'" Eragon watched Arya's face carefully. She stared at him as if she could not believe her ears. "He said something else as well, he said -"

"Wait," she interrupted, "You told me of this. He told you something of the Menoa tree and a ... a weapon."

"You are right." Eragon nodded. "And we certainly have power insufficient now, Arya. We think this is the only thing we can do."

Arya dropped her head slowly. A curtain of hair obscured her face. Then she spoke. "You must do as you see fit, Eragon and Saphira. But be safe; go, with my blessing. I only pray that you will return." She touched her fingers to Eragon's cheek briefly, then stood up, face once more unreadable. "Please come to me in Tialdari Hall before you go." And she left, making no noise on the carpet of pines.

--

Eragon had found his pack and was quickly throwing the few things he needed into it. _Elves burn their dead. Is that what they will do to Oromis?_

Saphira groaned low in her throat. _I do not know. But surely they will do the funeral soon ... today or tomorrow. And ..._

_And we will not be able to say goodbye, _finished Eragon heavily. _But we must get the egg. _

_I think Oromis and Glaedr would understand if they were with us. But it is cruel to do such a thing._

_An insult to their memory, _said Eragon quietly. _But you are right. We are doing the right thing. _

_We are, little one, _said Saphira, nudging him with her snout. _Are you ready?_

_I am. _

Tialdari Hall was deserted; only Arya stood in the leafy entrance hall. Apparently the lords and ladies were not going to make an appearance. He jumped from Saphira's back, landing before her. "Arya."

She nodded in return. "You are ready?"

"We are; there is little to pack anyway."

Arya crossed her arms and sighed. "I still fear you are going into great danger, Eragon, but I cannot prevent you. Also I know that you would not do anything so dangerous needlessly. But ... be safe, Eragon, and you, Saphira. Come back to us here, under the pines. We will miss you both." She pressed her two fingers to her lips than retreated into the Hall, giving him no time to reply.

_Let us go, little one. _

Eragon frowned, and climbed back onto Saphira, then fastened the leather thongs. Saphira launched herself into the air, rising quickly above the trees. Behind them, the few elves outside that saw them leaving cried out in dismay. But Arya, in Tialdari Hall, watched dragon and Rider go silently. Green eyes followed them, until she turned away, in grief or despair.

Eragon saw her slim figure watching them, and sighed. She had changed, ever since she first took him to the Menoa tree that first time ... _Saphira!_

_What? What is it? _

_Remember what Solembum said? About the Vault of Souls? **When the time time comes and you need a weapon, look under the roots of the Menoa tree - **_

_**Then, when all seems lost, go to the Rock of Kuthian and speak your name to open the Vault of Souls, **_finished Saphira. _Oh, little one ..._****

_We must go, Saphira. When have we been in more need of a weapon than now? And you know that I am no match for Murtagh. _

Saphira stopped, hovering above the trees. _And if we do not get the egg, all is lost ..._

She turned abruptly and dove beneath the trees again. Towards the Menoa tree.

--

It was just the same; as peaceful and gentle and wise as it had been the first time he had reached out and felt it's presence. But this time, no music flowed from the upper branches; all elves were gathering the city as Oromis-Elda was put to rest. _What should I do, Saphira?_

_Join with me. _She pulled him into her mind, and they sat beneath the Menoa tree, reaching out their minds as one.

The wise, ancient being was changed now. The tree was humming inside herself, thinking slowly and wisely. Eragon and Saphira touched her lightly, relaxed and calmed by her presence.

There was a faint stirring, a change in her thoughts. It was as if an animal, old and wise, was slowly coming out of hibernation, adjusting to it's new surroundings.

_So, young ones, you have come,_ it said quietly.

--

The camp was completely surrounded. Enclosed in a circle of well trained and powerful warrior-mages, the elves were in a very dangerous position. But Islanzadi knew one thing. And that was that Murtagh was carrying the last dragon egg.

_Galbatorix, you will see that the elves do not give up as easily as you think,_ she thought furiously. "Miniai!" she shouted to the commander, "attack with guided arrows!"

She felt grimly satisfied at the deadly arrows felled a few of the silent, dark attackers. But it was only a few fish in a large ocean ...

She stared angrily at the men that were so blatantly defying her. If this was what Murtagh could do with only tiny particle of his strength, what would the brunt of his might be?

--

Eragon gripped a root beneath his hand tightly, mind numb at the enormous being touching his mind. Saphira had withdrawn back into her own mind, but they were still connected through a strong link.

_Who are you?_

The being's thoughts swayed gently. _You know who I am, Rider. I am the Menoa tree. You came to see me, did you not?_

_We did, Wise One. _Saphira was at ease; the Tree calmed her.

_Solembum told you of me, I know. What did he tell you?_

_**When the time time comes and you need a weapon, look under the roots of the Menoa tree .Then, when all seems lost, go to the Vault of Souls and speak your name to open the Vault of Souls. **_Saphira said.

_Ah yes. And you are now going to the Vault of Souls. _It was not a question. _How do you plan on succeeding? No others have. _

_We do not know, Great Tree, _said Eragon humbly. _But we have urgent need! _

_The egg ... _the Tree gave the impression of one stretching after long imprisonment._ That is what woke me, you know. The newly laid egg was brought here,to the Riders, to have the magicks that would turn it into a bonded egg cast. But Vrael bound it to me, at my insistence. If only he had listened. If only he had heeded my words! _She seemed to groan with misery.

_What do you mean?_ asked Eragon._ You knew Vrael?_

_He was the only Rider – apart from Brom and Saphira - to talk to me. His dragon, Itilara, was the one that reached out to me. I often gave him advice. But he became to arrogant ... Alagaesia had been at peace so long that he felt all was secure. His searches for Galbatorix were ceased too soon. He could have been found, all this suffering prevented! He knew who I was; but I bound him to secrecy. _

_And ... and who are you? _Eragon asked tentatively.

_I expect you know the tale, Rider. I was Linnea once; thousands of years ago, before the great Dragon wars, when even the elves were mortal. I was the first of my kind to leave that way of life behind – but others have become one with nature since then. Now I am the Guardian of the forest, of all living things beneath the pines. _

_I can see things in the future, and I can look at the past as clearly as you see the sun rising. I helped Vrael when I could see that the peace that had held Alagaesia for so long was about to fail. But he did not listen; he grown over-confident in his rule. And so, all was lost. _

Eragon's mind was spinning. _You can tell what is going to happen in the future? How is that possible?_

_I **am **nature, Eragon. All nature has a slight perception of what will happen tomorrow; other things can sense, if only vaguely, where various armies will march. Plants tell me where they think rain will fall. And do not forget. I became part of this tree by weaving the strongest magic available at that time. I used magic from the Grey Folk. They showed me how to weave such spells; how to grow such beautiful, healthy plants as I did. For that, I am eternally grateful. _

The Grey Folk ... _And you knew Vrael? _

_I did. He was a great man, despite his shortcomings. _

_So ... so why are you now talking to us now?_

She seemed taken aback by his words. _You are the leaders of the Riders now, young ones. You have taken Vrael and Itilara's places. I have knowledge that you and the rebellion need to defeat the False King. I can tell you so much, help your battle movements, show you secret things. _

_You will help us? _Eragon felt a surge of hope and relief. _Help the Varden? _

_As well as I can. But I am not a warrior any more, only a counsellor. It falls upon you and your friends to defeat him. _

_To defeat him we must have the last egg, _Saphira said sharply. _How will you help us with that? _

_You do not need the egg to defeat him, _replied the Tree. Eragon's heart sank. _But you will be as good as defeated if Galbatorix finds a Rider for the egg. To answer your question, Saphira, I will help you by giving you some important information. _

Eragon's heat swelled again. Saphira growled expectantly. The Menoa tree continued; _to open the Vault of Souls you must know your true names ... do you think yourselves strong enough?_

Eragon's mind flicked to Saphira. _What do you think? _

_We are. _

_It can be a terrible and soul destroying thing, to know your true name,_ warned the Tree. _Many humans have been driven to insanity in the knowledge. _

_We have decided, Wise One. _Saphira said firmly.

_Eragon; you are the son of a great man. In your hands lies the fate of Alagaesia. Should you fail, all will be lost. Galbatorix will rampage through all of this land, destroying all the elves who remain in the Guarding Forest and massacring or enslaving all the Varden, even the very youngest babe. _Eragon could feel his heart quavering. He was not strong enough, all would be lost ... _Do you still wish to know your name, Dragon and Rider? _

He swallowed, then gave his and Saphira's answers. _Yes, Great Tree. We do._

She might have been pleased from the way her mind hummed. _You are Lam abr Daiithil, Eragon. _

Eragon's head spun. _Hand of Freedom ...? _he said wonderingly.

_Yes. You hold Alagaesia's fate in your hands. Make a mistake and all will fall. Hundreds of people will die for you and yet ... and yet you may die in vain. _

Eragon felt a if a great weight was laid on his shoulders. He bowed, as if aged.Why was he fighting this battle anyway? Why were the Varden resisting so fruitlessly? How could they possibly hope to survive ...?

_No ... _he said suddenly. The Trees' humming jarred slightly. It paused. _No,_ continued Eragon, struggling with the terrible weight on his shoulders. _The Varden are doing the right thing. Galbatorix must be overthrown ... and I am fighting on the right side. Not matter who I am, that will not change. _He said the last with a sense of relieving finality and security. He **was**right.

_You have passed the test, Lam abr Daiithil. Now your dragon must face the test. Your name, Dragon, is Du Vollar Bjart. _

"The Burning Light." Eragon said quietly. It fitted her well.

Saphira remained quiet. Eragon could feel her thoughts roiling and raging inside her and knew she was going through the same torment as he had. Then she said slowly, _My father and his Rider died to defeat the Black King. My mother was killed in his violent rampage across Alagaesia. I will continue with their fight and will **always **be loyal to the Varden and the elves. I will not change. _

The Menoa tree could almost be smiling. _You know your true selves and souls. Many trials stand before you, but through all you will remain yourselves, pure of heart and true In your allegiance. But – _Eragon could feel a slight amusement in her voice, _– you have a very weak and primitive weapon, Daiithil. _

Eragon looked at his sword, dull silver in it's rough leather sheath. _Yes. _

_You cannot fight your half-brother with it. There is one more thing I can give you. Look beneath my roots. _She let him go, releasing his mind to look around at the clearing.

_Look beneath you roots ...? _wondered Eragon. Obediently, he walked around the girth of the huge tree. Coming back round to where he started, he began to form another question before seeing something. It was flash of bright blue. _What ..? _Thought Eragon. He got down on his hand and knees and touched the blue thing. It was hard and cool.

_Take it, Eragon! _said Saphira with controlled excitement.

He grasped it firmly and pulled. It was a sword. The blue metal was gleaming in the sun; it was the same length and style as Za'roc. The pommel was tear-drop shaped, while highly polished silver in the shape of a flying dragon made slight hand-guard over the first fingers. The sheath was blue as well, made of an iridescent blue. A rune from the Liduen Kvaedhi was tooled onto it in black.

"Daiithil." He said wonderingly. "How is it possible ...?

The tree reached out to him again. _Your father left this in my keeping. He would be proud of the son he has. Wear your father's sword, Freedom, proudly, and fight for his memory. _

_You knew my father? You knew Brom? _Asked Eragon urgently.

_I did. He was an excellent man; had his Saphira not been killed, they would have been destined for great things. As it is, he brought about the present circumstances. He stole Saphira's egg, saved your mothers life and killed her brutal husband, Morzan. Without Brom, the Varden and elves would not be so fortunate. You are a lot like him, Lam abr Daiithil. _

_What do you mean? _Asked Eragon quickly.

_He chose the rune on his sword and his name was close to yours. _

_His true name? What was it? _

_Your curiosity betrays, you Rider. But I will tell you, for I sense you have a hard time in _

_your acceptance of Brom as your sire. His name ... his name was 'Wyrda abr Daiithil' ._

"Fate of Freedom." Eragon repeated. "It fits him well."

_It does, _agreed the Tree. _But you will outdo him. Go now, Lam abr Daiithil and Du Vollar Bjart, knowing that I, an through me all nature, is behind you. Return safely; with a powerful weapon I sense you will defeat your traitorous brother. _

She started withdrawing from his and Saphira's minds, returning to her peaceful,steady way of life.

_Wait! _cried Eragon, but the Menoa continued to withdraw into herself. _Thank-you, _said Eragon quietly. She sent back a quick flash of recognition at his word, but then became still and silent again.

_Thank-you, _echoed Saphira. Then all was quiet.

--

Eragon could see the trees flashing below him only as green blurs. He ran his hands over the hilt of his sword and marvelled at the way it seemed to fit into his hand as if it was meant for him. The silver hint glinted in the sun, the light changing to that the dragon carved into the hilt seemed to really fly.

_It is an amazing weapon, Saphira. _

_Aye, _she agreed, _now we are a proper Shurtugal. _

_Do you feel different now, Saphira?_ He asked cautiously.

_I do: I feel as if I am fully myself for the first time, completely at peace with my own mind. It is our new ... knowledge, I think, that makes us feel this way. _

_I agree ...Brom was right. It is a terrible and wonderful thing to know ones true name. _

_It is. I never knew they were so ... accurate in this way. _

Eragon laughed. _Our names suit us, do they not? _

_They do! _She smiled back, and she dived lower to the warmer reaches of the atmosphere.

--

The camp-site was dark dreary. They were sitting on the outskirts of Du Weldenvarden, watching the lights of Ceunon – a city now controlled by the elves – and wishing for somewhere dry.

_Those mountains, Saphira. They are what I grew up seeing, every day. _

_And close to where I was hatched. We will never forget Palancar Valley, will we, little one?_

_No ... even though there is nothing there now. Therinsford and Carvahall. It is a wonder Ceunon survived. _

Saphira snorted. _The only reason it is still there is because Galbatorix found it slightly useful. _

_Well, it is good that he left it there or the elves wouldn't have been able to use it as an outpost. _

Saphira laid her head on the damp moss of the forest floor and sighed. _Arya was not happy about us going to Utgard. _

Eragon said nothing for a moment. _No. I am not so happy to be going either._

_Your village will be there. _

_What is left it. Yes, I know. It is not really on our course and we have little time. _

_If you say so, little one. I am rested enough now. _Saphira stood up and stretched her back. The saddle creaked. _I will need a new saddle soon, I fear. _

Eragon got on, feeling the tautness of the girth. _I can see that. _

Saphira grunted, and took off, shaking drizzle from her wings. _We will arrive by nightfall, little one. _And she rose steadily towards the barely-visible stars.

--

The Palancar valley was stretched out like peaceful patchwork. A little brown from the death of all the greenery, perhaps, but still as still and perfect as it had been since he had first looked down on it from the mountains of the Spine. Or maybe not so perfect. Close to where they were flying at the time was Therinsford. The town was now a sooty and deadened mess by the Anora River, home to only wild animals.

A cold wind blew and brought with it an acrid, dying smell. _There was a population of couple of thousand in Therinsford, _he told Saphira, _and now it seems as if there is no one in all the town. _

_I can smell it on the wind, _she said distastefully. _Cast your eyes further afield. Can you see Utgard?_

Eragon looked. From their great height he could see the Anora River, twisting and turning, to where if cascaded over the great rocky ledge in the Spine on the edge of Carvahall. It was merely a glistening, golden tumbling thing, only visible because of his enhanced sight. Beside it, though, was a black, dead, circle. Carvahall. _No, I cannot see Utgard. It is further south of Therinsford. _

Saphira turned abruptly and flew right over Therinsford, then began descending. _I can see it now, Eragon._ _There is no one there._

Eragon felt a thrill of fear. Saphira descended so quickly that his eyes blurred and stung. There was a sudden bump and they touched land. Wiping his streaming eyes, Eragon looked around, suspicion in every fibre of his body, then he stiffened at the incredible sight before him.

Utgard was huge. Saphira had landed on a small platform, large enough for one dragon, but it was the structure before him that made him stare. Tall and formidable, Ristvak'Baen rose many hundreds of cubits into the air. It was made of a black, thick stone; all were cut into perfect squares and lodged firmly in place. Dank moss trailed from cracks in the masonry, weeping from the empty eyes of the windows and gaping mouth of the dark slash that had once been a door.

Saphira's tail waved slightly as she moved forward, making a sudden swishing noise that sounded abnormally loud in the dank silence of the tower. _It reeks of sorrow and loss. It is a foul place. _

_And it is where Vrael met his end._

Saphira's nostrils flared. _Where do you think we should go?_

Eragon looked. The tower took up all of the space on the thin tabletop; only a small ledge ran the way around it. _I think it must be inside. _

He stood by her shoulder, and they walked cautiously towards the gaping door. Inside the smell was disgusting. Damp and mildew rose to his nostrils and it was hard to see in the gloom. He could make out a few shapes, dark and menacing. Shelves lined the walls, but all their contents were rotten and mouldy. A staircase led upwards, but it was the great thing in the middle that made him suck in his breath quickly.

A colossal skeleton filled the rotting floor. A huge ribcage reached upwards then curved to meet each other at the top. A long spine got thinner and thinner until joined a huge, bony head. The long, white fangs dropped over the lower jaw, and the great eye sockets were empty and staring. Another skeleton, tiny and frail it seemed beside the dragons vast bones, lay inside the great ribs.

_Gods above ... _said Eragon, horrified.

_Vrael and Itilara,_ said Saphira sadly. _Still in the position they died in._

Eragon stared with pitying and sorrowful eyes, almost forgetting their mission in his emotion. Eventually, he tore his eyes away from the white bones, and said to Saphira, _where should we go now? Forward? _

_There is nowhere else to go **but **forward. _

Eragon conjured a glowing blue globe, and, with it floating in front of them, dragon and Rider stepped forward. Immediately there was a whooshing, roaring noise and all went white.

--

Now. What I really want to know is: A. How do you like their true names? And B. How was my description of the important things? I'm sorry for the long wait, but you don't _want _to know what my life has been like these past few days.

Thanks for reading! (And even more for reviewing!)


	27. Kuthian's Rock

Sorry for the long wait but I spent ages on this, so enjoy! You seriously don't want to know what being in my house is like at the moment ... seriously.

The gore-level is quite high in this towards the end and the Vault of Souls rather unpleasant, I'm afraid. Me and my over-reactive imagination.

One thing...has anyone actually _**seen** _the Eldest Deluxe Edition? It might be that it didn't really come to Britain that successfully, but still – did anyone read it? See it? Come across a shop that had it in stock? It seems really elusive. They must have stopped printing it by now though...oh, well, I'll just have to wait for E----- to come out then.

Now, I forgot in the last chapter. Huge thanks to The Tealeaf Master for all his wonderful help with my plot and especially with Eragon;s sword. Couldn't have done it without you, Brian!

And again ... Thanks so much Reviewers!! You are such wonderful people --P:) You rule.

Chapter Twenty-Seven.

Kuthian's Rock.

The whiteness was suffocating. There was nothing to see, nothing to hear ... it was as if the whole world resided in the strange nothingness. Eragon felt disembodied ... where was he? Where were his legs? His arms? Was there another place apart from this white canvass?

"_Gala o wyrda Brunhvitr ..." _

The melody, haunting and ethereal, stuck in Eragon's mind. Where did it come from? Who was singing it ...? The whiteness was sickening. He tried to call out for Saphira, but couldn't feel her.

_Saphira ...?! _

No answer.

_Saphira, where are you?! _

He tried to shout; but when he opened his mouth, the thick, stifling white seemed to enter his mouth and ears, blocking any sound or noise. He tried to drop his hand down to Daiithil's pommel, but it was impossible to make his mind focussed enough to move the right hand.

_Hellfire! _

The curse let off a little of his frightened anger, and he tried to reach out his mind to find Saphira again.

_Where **are **you?!_

She was still alive, that was obvious, else neither would he be. But this was the Vault of Souls ...! It was supposed to help him, not let him slowly suffocate in this ... this mist.

_Hello ..?! _

At last, something was happening! The very edges of his vision receded a little, leaving black creases where the white blanket had been. Slowly, very slowly, the whiteness turned to greyness. Eragon's eyes were still adjusting - in a strange, slow way – to the new colour, when it disappeared completely.

Eragon blinked rapidly. There were tiny lights behind his eyes from the sudden change of light, but, he realised thankfully, that he was now on firm ground. And there was something else ...

_Saphira! _

She was standing close to him her head dropped and her sides shaking. _Oh, little one ... _

Eragon hugged her neck, heart painful with relief. _That was awful, Saphira. _

_It was, little one. Never, ever again. _She nudged his shoulder with her scaled nose, then snorted and looked around with bright eyes. _But it seems we have arrived somewhere. _They were in cave. The roof was not visible, reaching far upwards. But maybe there wasn't a a roof at all. The floor was rocky and uneven. It seemed to be made from the same black rock as Utgard. All in all, it gave sense of dry, expectant waiting. _Somewhere very strange indeed, _said Saphira.

"Oh yes. Somewhere is where you certainly are, young ones. But, may I ask, why have you come in by the front door?"

The unfamiliar voice shocked Eragon and Saphira. They turned quickly, backing away at the same time. But all they saw was an old, old man.

"Yes, indeed. Your brother came in the back way. Very rude, I might add." The old man continued, raising an inquiring white eyebrow.

But all Eragon could do was stare.

--

The whole of Ellesmera was gathered in the clearing, watching the earth be slowly piled around the golden dragons' body, his riders frail from clutched in one cold claw. Oromis and Glaedr were to be put to rest that day, and Arya was to oversee it, as the crown princess.

Many of the congregation were weeping, the black flowers that adorned their hair wilted sadly. A mound was erected in the fashion of the Riders of old, though Oromis and Glaedr were the first Riders to be buried in Ellesmera; elves normally burnt their dead.

"Oromis was the best of elves; Glaedr a true dragon from a lost age," she said to the crowd, her voice clear and steady. "As Shurtugal, they both defended what was good and what was right; in life; and in death. They upheld the honour of the Riders when all seemed lost. And now, we will put them to rest with the honour and dignity they deserve. Rest well, Great Ones," she whispered softly, then nodded to the elves who were to cover the two bodies.

The mound was piled reverently higher, until all sides reached. Eventually, all of Glaedr's golden hide was obscured. The crowd murmured sadly, and Arya could see why. The mound of stark, brown earth looked angry and forbidding no matter the two wonderful beings it enclosed. Arya knew it would not be until the spring that any grass or – fate forbid – flowers grew on it. Arya crossed her arms and stared, unseeing, her thoughts turning to Eragon.

She knew he had wanted to be here, no matter how sad for him. But instead he had gone to do his duty. Arya knew, as had been shown by his return to Surda before his masters' deaths, that he was more aware of his duty than ever – and the fact that he obeyed it showed his new-found maturity.

But how she hoped he would be all right! The Vault of Souls was an evil place, though no elf had ever set foot inside it before. Then he would haver to fight his ... his brother. Murtagh. Arya had been so surprised to hear he was Morzan's son – and saddened. Surely Eragon deserved better than to be the son of the filthy traitor that had condemned so many to death, her father not the least.

Arya stared at the barren hillock around which the crowd was slowly dissipating. The wind was cold. It was unnatural for winter to stay so long, though there had not yet been any snow. The earth, moist and damp, was starting to freeze in the dusk. The trees, on the other side of the Crags of Tel'naeir, were whispering softly and the pines behind her were answering in their rhythmic language.

Arya shivered – concealingly the movement before the Lords and Ladies of the court by gripping her sword tightly – the wind blew from the north-east, cutting through her clothing.

Spring would be a long time in coming.

--

He was old, certainly, but a timelessness surrounded him, making his dun-coloured robe and pale green eyes seem windows into a much younger man. His face was vaguely puzzled, but he looked like one who had become used to guests that frequently abused his hospitality. Eragon had the impression that, if he were to start screaming insults at him, that the man would only stare calmly. But at present, it was Eragon doing the staring.

"As I say, your family has always been very rude," a look of pained anger passed over his wrinkled face. "Why are you here, then?"

Eragon blinked. "We were ... advised to come here by ... Solembum ..."

"Ho. That one. A wily creature, but his heart is in the right place," the old man smiled faintly. "He feels himself to be the general overseer of all the world, I think. But come; how do you know him? Perhaps that would be a good way to start this long and confusing conversation."

_We met him in Teirm, _said Saphira, voice blank. _How do you know him? _

"All werecats are ... connected to the Vault of Souls ... and Solembum is one of the best."

"So this _is _the Vault of Souls?!" asked Eragon quickly.

The old man nodded sagely. "It is, yes." He frowned. "But we have been sorely mistreated of late. Your family and his master have not been kind."

"What do you mean, 'my family?!' Neither my mother nor my father came here. Speak up, old man."

The old man's green eyes took on a faraway look. "No, but your brother did. And his father before him, along with all his traitorous colleagues."

Eragon lifted his chin. "Murtagh Morzansson is only my half brother. We are sworn enemies."

The old man tucked the wide sleeves of his robe into each another, like a monk at prayer, then surveyed Eragon with mild surprise. "Not many people can call their own family 'enemy' with so little regret. And so, here you are a puzzle to me, Rider." Robe swishing lightly, the old man began to walk around Eragon; Eragon noticed that the man's feet seemed to barely touch the rocky floor.

"You are human – yes, I know of the Agaeti Blodrhen! -" he said in answer to Eragon's startled movement "- it was not only the elves that were present at that ceremony. But, being human, you should not know your true name. Yet I can see from your stance and your aura that you do. Tell me, did a friendly elf tell you it?"

Eragon bristled at the man's enquiring voice, then calmed himself: it was ridiculous to get angry like this. So he answered measuredly, "It was no elf that told us."

"Oh?" he raised the other white eyebrow.

_It was the Menoa tree, Eldest amongst all others in Ellesmera, _Saphira said.

"Ah." The old man relaxed. "She would not talk to you with out reason, would she? No, I know the Menoa – I think we can now talk frankly. Sit down." He patted the empty air beside him affectionately. Eragon stared.

"Please excuse me, sir, but I am very confused."

"Ah," he said again, smiling a little. "But so am I, a little bit. Perhaps -" he cocked his head like a bird "- perhaps if you were to tell me why you are here it would help matters."

Eragon narrowed his eyes. "How can I trust you?"

The old man pursed his lips. "I can understand that. Well, then. I am Kuthian, keeper of this ..." he waved his hand at the dark cave, "... this Vault. I assure you that Solembum spoke true: I can certainly give you power, young Rider. But do not make this decision too easily, for once you do, I cannot refuse."

Eragon, still surprised by the revelation the old man's name, nodded. "I understand," he said cautiously.

"Good." He nodded his white head gravely. "You came here for a reason, no?"

"I did," said Eragon. "Murtagh – my brother – has the last dragon egg. He has encircled the elven queen's camp and may move in to kill them at any time. If the elf-queen is killed then the Varden's chances of success are limited. Also, we need that egg, Kuthian ... otherwise _everything _is lost."

"No quite." Kuthian was regarding Eragon with calm interest. "Not even the wisest can know the end to every tale, every adventure."

"So you won't help us?" Eragon asked, disappointed.

"No, no, I didn't say that." Kuthian wagged a finger repressively. "I should begin at the beginning." The old man sat down, sitting comfortably on thin air. Eragon and Saphira stared in surprise. He seemed to enjoy their astonishment.

"This is the Vault of Souls," he continued, "a place where, after death, certain souls can be brought back and communicated with."

"_What_?!" said Eragon in shock and disgust. Saphira made similar angry noise.

Kuthian smiled sadly. "It was set up by a few of the most powerful human mages that have ever lived and mortal elves, before the Dragon Wars. But, as it is with power, they were unwholesome and power hungry. Both sides had an unhealthy fascination with Death; and so together they set up making this place. A net to catch the unfortunate people whose souls wandered here. I was the first to die when they had finished. In my living life I was a scribe to the Great King Palancar. They chose _me _to be the caretaker because I was famously wise and artful. Still, I bowed to their wills and my poor, weary soul was forced into their service.

"I have been here throughout the millennia, watching the whole world turn, be handed to different rulers, be subjected to different troubles." Kuthian was decidedly unhappy now, recalling the ancient memories.

"But surely they have died now? You said they were mortal – wasn't the spell undone?"

Kuthian shook his head. "No. They cast spells to bind me forever to this stone. Through the ages I have welcomed all the other poor souls that have been caught by my captors' net. Kings, servants, murderers; dragons, dwarves, elves and men have entered these halls, and I know and have memorised the names of every single one."

_You are in your own prison, _said Saphira sorrowfully.

Kuthian bobbed his head. "You are a true dragon, Du Vollar Bjart. If all were like you the Riders would never have fallen."

Saphira hummed deep in her chest. She reached over to nudge the man's frail shoulder, but her snout passed straight through him. Withdrawing her head, she snorted in a puzzled way.

"I have long left the world of the living, Saphira," Kuthian said; Eragon thought he sounded as though the dragon's gesture had been the kindest he had received for years – which it probably was, Eragon reminded himself.

"So you will always be here, imprisoned in this cave ... forever?" Eragon asked, feeling sick.

That is it, in the main." The white head bobbed again. "The Vault of Souls is a miserable place – though some have found it to their advantage." Kuthian eyed Eragon shrewdly. "Murtagh and Galbatorix -and the Forsworn, before their deaths – all took energy from the Vault."

_How? _Growled Saphira. _How did Galbatorix find out about this place?_

"He learnt it from the Shade he learnt all his other dark knowledge from. Shades, being spirits themselves, can sense the immense amount of power that resides in this Vault."

And how," said Eragon, leaning forward, " how does he draw power?"

"As I said – he came by the back door. The black magic he already knew enabled him to tap into it. He found me and ordered me to give him a few hundred souls; I, of course, could not refuse because of my bonds, and so I gave him as much as he wanted. After that he had a small part of himself encased in the magical net that catches the poor people that are brought here.

"For every single person he killed, he took it into himself and used them as energy, for that is all souls are: energy with the shadows of that persons' personality. And, with that power, he and his Forsworn brought down the Riders and captured Alagaesia in a grip of iron."

"So Murtagh _and _Thorn, not to mention Galbatorix, have unlimited power from you?" said Eragon in horror.

"Yes ... although the years have begun to tell on him and his servants, I know."

_What do you mean? _asked Saphira.

"Depriving the land of it's normal amount of energy from souls," explained Kuthian measuredly, "has begun to drain it's normal fertility from the land." He cocked a bright eye at the Rider. "You were pursued by Nagra and Fanghur way out of their normal hunting grounds, weren't you?"

_Yes ... _said Saphira, mystified.

"And this winter has gone on for far longer than it should have – but there has not been any snow, as yet. Everywhere the signs of the Kings' unnatural reign is showing. The Fanghur and Nagra are well out of their normal boundaries, and the larger Urgal tribes are wandering down to lower ground. Spring comes late, the summer is short but very hot while the winter is harsh. Yes, the king and his followers have left their mark."

"So that explains it ..." Eragon said wonderingly. "Nasuada was very surprised at their boldness."

"Well, quite ... their normal hunting grounds have become devoid of food and so they wander further abroad. Galbatorix does not yet realise it, but the only reason Alagaesia is not an empty shell is because the energy from the souls came from Alalea, the land across the sea."

Saphira hissed. _The elves' homeland? _

Kuthian nodded. "The very same. I suspect that land is rather the worse for wear. But still," he wriggled his shoulders vigorously, "I am for **this **land. Have you any more questions, Daiithil?"

_The dragons, _said Saphira. _How did Galbatorix kill so many dragons, if there really were the hundreds I am led to believe there were? _

Kuthian, of all things, smiled. "He did not. Some dragons, led, I believe, by Brom," Eragon stiffened, "came here, I gave them peace and dreamless sleep until all was over. They will only return when Alagaesia is at peace again."

Eragon stared, as shocked as Saphira. "How many?"

"Twelve, eighteen fully grown, I think, three hatchlings and numerous eggs. All are wild dragons, though."

Saphira crowed excitedly. _There are more ... _

"Yes, but they will only waken when Galbatorix is dead. He controls most of the Vault now and has the brunt of it's power within him," warned Kuthian gently.

_I understand. _Saphira bowed her head, but Eragon could feel her excitement.

Eragon frowned, thinking. "You said that souls get trapped here ... does that mean that Oromis and Brom are here? And Uncle Garrow and Aunt Marian?!" He added quickly, getting excited.

"Many, many people are dying all the time, Eragon; what makes you think that the Net will have caught **your **loved ones?"

"I ..." faltered Eragon, "but ..."

"Hmph." Kuthian's old brow wrinkled. "Well, one, I think is here. Brom of Kuasta, was his name."

"Brom!" cried Eragon. Saphira growled excitedly. "Can I see him?"

"Not ..." Kuthian looked unhappy, "... not as you see and talk to me. I am the most powerful of all souls, Eragon. Brom to you would be only a wispy, faint thing with your fathers personality. Are you sure you wish to see him?"

Eragon's face glazed over. "Yes ... yes, I would, please."

"Very well." The old man bowed his head, and lifted a finger to silence dragon and Rider. "Your father approaches, Eragon."

A shining white figure, about a man's height and width, was now close to Kuthian. It slowly began to shimmer into a recognisable shape. A beard appeared, grey on white face, then arms and legs, clothed in travel-stained breeches and shirt.

"Brom ..." Eragon whispered. The man looked up.

"Ah, Eragon. How I hoped you would never have to do the things I have." He was so exactly like the Brom Eragon had known that it was painful.

Eragon was on his feet. "Why ..." he stopped what he was going to say. "How are you here?"

Brom's shining features made an unhappy face. "The Net that encircles the Vault reaches out, in particular, to magical or powerful beings. I, I'm afraid, was a prime target."

Eragon was bursting with emotions. "That means ... that you're stuck here ... forever?" he asked with a sense of foreboding.

"Until someone can release all of us, all the souls imprisoned in this foul place."

"Brom ... I don't ... don't know what to say ..."

Brom smiled sadly. "There is the matter of me and you, Eragon."

"You're my father; Saphira told Oromis after the Battle of the Burning Plains." Eragon's heart felt tight. "After my _brother _saw fit to tell me I was Morzan's son." Eragon's voice tightened in anger at that memory.

Brom seemed angry as well. "I was able to watch that battle, Eragon. I wished I could be there to sever his head from his shoulders, the evil, weak-minded scum!" Brom growled. "You comported yourself very well – I was proud ... my son." He reached out a gentle, insubstantial hand as if to touch Eragon's face. "You made me very, very proud."

Eragon could feel a tear in his eye. "Thank-you ... father. But I am the one who is honoured – to have you as my father! It is more than I could have dreamed of."

"I was not such a great man, Eragon," he protested, but Eragon could see a shining tear in his eye as well. "But you are your mothers' son, certainly." He drew a sharp breath. "Oh, she was so beautiful ... so gentle and clever and kind. I loved her so very, very much. I hope you one day find a love as complete as ours."

Eragon smiled inwardly. "So say my bones."

_Brom, _said Saphira. He turned his bright eyes to her blue ones. _It is good to see you again, old one. _

_And it warms my heart to see you as well, Saphira._

"Brom," said Eragon, struck by a sudden thought, "is ... is your Saphira here?"

Brom's features changed into one of ultimate sorrow. "No, she is not. See, Eragon? I cannot even die properly. I will be here until the end of time, yet still without my Saphira."

"What about mother, then? Is she here?" Eragon asked, one last ray of hope shining.

"No ... if she were, my imprisonment would be easier to bear." Brom folded his legs to sit in mid-air like Kuthian. "I fear you will never know your mother, Eragon."

Eragon shrugged and half-smiled. "I never expected to – everyone said it was obvious she was suffering a post-natal illness. But I always wanted to know my father. I used to daydream, imagining him to be someone very important -"

"- And instead it was me," finished Brom with a twisted smile. "Well, it could have been worse."

"It _was _worse, for a while, when I still believed Morzan to be my sire." Eragon admitted.

"Ah, my feelings when I found out about that were ... more than any man could bear." Brom folded his arms. "This is strange, is it not? We have ... days of talking to do, Eragon."

"Days we will never have," he said, almost sullenly, but then he corrected himself. "I am in a great hurry."

"Oh?" his father enquired, raising a grizzled old eyebrow.

"Murtagh has the green egg, and he's encircled the queen's camp with magicians that are extremely powerful – Arya and Niduen were told that they are nearly Shades."

Kuthian coughed angrily. Eragon jumped; he had forgotten the old man was still there. "Yes, they came with their master to collect energy – they are the ones responsible for the irregular behaviour of the Fanghur and Nagra."

"The green egg ..." pondered Brom, "... and you came here because of Solembum's words – yes, I know about them, Eragon – to do what?"

Eragon felt like a toddler being bullied by older children. "Solembum said ... power insufficient ..."

"And you came here for power?" Brom looked faintly disappointed.

"I ... I didn't know what I would find," he fumbled, trying to explain.

"So you would come here and become like Galbatorix and all his filthy servants? Surely there are better ways, Eragon?"

"I ..."

"Of course," Kuthian leaned forward, "if you ask for power, I cannot refuse you."

Eragon groaned inside. Was nothing easy or simple? Clearly, Kuthian and Brom wanted him to do something – but what? _Saphira? _He didn't need to explain to her. She understood.

_We need more power, little one, but we cannot do as Galbatorix has. We cannot become like him. _

_We never would! _He cried indignantly, _but I know what you mean. What can we do, then? _

She was silent. _Let me think. Kuthian said that all the souls here are masses of energy with personalties, didn't he? _

_Yes, he did. What are you thinking of? _

_What if ... what if, instead of enslaving some souls, we **ask **them to help us and let us use their energy. That way ..._

_That way we would be able to let go of the souls when we needed – and would avoided doing anything so foul as what Murtagh and Galbatorix have done! _Eragon was excited. _Clever, Saphira!_

_Thank-you. Ask them now, then. _Despite her modest tone, Eragon could tell she was pleased with herself.

"Brom, what if we asked some of you – the souls – to give us their energy freely, that way -"

"Aha!" cried Brom. He looked radiantly happy. "Ah, my boy, I knew you would think of it!" He waved his arms about his head triumphantly. "Ha!" he finished off. Kuthian leaned forward, a pleased expression on his wry mouth.

"I believe there are many people who would willingly give their energy to you. Leave this to me, Daiithil."

--

As dawn touched the bare mound of earth before her, Arya thought it looked even more desolate than it had the evening before. She leaned her white cheek against the rough bark of the tall pine tree she was sitting in. Ellesmera seemed lonely and cold since Eragon and Saphira had left.

All the city was quiet. Arya could hear a curlew calling; far above her, a flock of starlings wheeled and dodged. Her sharp ears could hear their small, fluttering wings and and cheeping voices. A pheasant squawked in the undergrowth, foraging for food. Arya watched his handsome plumage disappearing further into a large bramble thicket and shivered. The night was calm and cold. There would be a frost in the morning.

Her back prickled uneasily, as if someone was watching. She looked all about. There was no one. Her hand dropped to the hilt, smoothly holding it's slim pommel. Suddenly, completely silently, the forest was lit with a strange, glowing green light. It made everything seem double-shadowed and eery. Arya's eyes flew about the trees, wide and frightened, but no answers presented themselves. Then, just an silently as it had come, the green light faded. Everything was back to normal.

Arya took a shuddering, scared breath, a need for light and familiar voices making her scramble form the branch and onto the dry forest floor. The pheasant, startled, squawked and fluttered around in it's thicket. Arya gasped, and sprang back. Realising what it was, she let out a shaky breath. What happened, she wondered?

--

Nasuada could not sleep. She rose, reaching for Naidel. Perhaps there was a storm coming.

Outside, the night was clear but cold. No one stirred and the sentries on duty were clothed in shadow. Then, all of a sudden, a green light rose in the sky. It seemed to reach up to the stars, bathing all the camp in a fluorescent. Nasuada cried out in alarm, reaching for Naidel. Was it the egg, somehow? Had Murtagh managed to get it to hatch? Was it .. was it Galbatorix himself?!

"Guards," Nasuada said in a low voice, "Guards, did you see anything?"

They snapped to sharp attention. "The green light, my Lady?" said the Captain, "we saw it, yes."

"Some trick form the enemy," said a tall Surdan in a low voice.

"Aye, witchcraft," muttered another.

"Witchcraft?" echoed Nasuada. "Perhaps."

Maybe it was only a trick, made to alarm her men. Still, she doubted it. It's power had woken her from her sleep, after all. "Magic," she mused quietly.

"Witchcraft."

--

Hepzibah watched the dark blue sky, still touched faintly by the sun. It was beautiful. She felt as if she could have watched it forever.

"Girl!" snapped a sharp voice from behind her, "close those shutters and plump the cushions." Clara, Mistress of the Chambermais, glared forbiddingly. "I will have some supper left over for you when you are done." Clara turned sharply and beckoned for her white-and-grey clad chambermaids to follow her.

Hepzibah watched sadly. Her soup would be cold by the time she got to the kitchens. She leant out of the window to undo the catches on the shutters, and her eyes were drawn again to the night-sky. A cold breeze ruffled her bonnet and Hepzibah turned in surprise to where it had come from.

A green light, gentle, but somehow powerful as well, filled the horizon. Hepzibah's mouth fell open, a strand of curly hair escaping her bonnet. The light made a swishing, roaring noise, like trees in a summer wind.

Hepzibah squeaked, and withdrew her head from the window. Forgetting all about her chores, she turned and fled towards the servant quarters, wishing Orrin was there with her, like he had been during the last storm that had shaken Surda.

--

Eragon's head swam with all the people -souls – that he had just met. Deynor, Ajihad's predecessor, his pale face solemn, had agreed to lend his power; the leader of a powerful Urgal clan that had been forced to fight in Farthen Dur had also wanted revenge on Galbatorix. A few legions of Varden soldiers killed in the battles of Farthen Dur and the Burning Plains, along with many of King Orrin's cavalry; not to mention a good few generations of dwarves. And, to Eragon's immense amazement and pride, Korgan, first King of Dwarves and founder of Farthen Dur itself. All in all, at least two thousands were agreeing to give Eragon their energy and power. He was honoured, and told them so.

After a lot of talking, and, to Kuthian's pleasure, laughter, which was rarely heard in the Vault, the souls left. Eragon turned to Brom.

"What will happen now?"

Brom smiled mysteriously. "They will give you small parts of themselves, so that you may draw on their power at will. They will never be weakened; souls are part of nature itself."

"So then -" began Eragon but broke off. He felt strange ... like he was being filled full of a light air. He felt as if he could almost float. Saphira seemed to be experiencing the same as him. Looking at his hands, he was glowing green, making his skin look blurred and translucent.

_Saphira, what ...?_

_Ssh! _She hissed, _look! _

The faint shapes of the souls he had just met were staring to appear again. Slowly, they walked toward Eragon. This was Deynor. He walked straight through Eragon; but when the Rider turned to look, the man had disappeared.

_Hey!_

Another person was approaching him. This one was dwarf. He, as well, walked straight through Eragon, only to disappear on the other side. Again and again it happened, until no more were left.

"What happened, Kuthian?" demanded Eragon. He felt fragile.

"They gave you their energy. Now they are merely shining shapes to remain in this Vault, For better or for worse, it cannot be undone now – only if Galbatorix is killed." Kuthian looked worried, but in his sea-green eyes, a leaping excitement burned.

Eragon straightened. "We **will **kill him. We will not fail you." He touched Daiithil. "This sword and your gift will not be in vain."

_And my claws and fire will destroy what remains of the traitors that do the Black Kings bidding. _

Brom smiled, matching Saphira's ferocity. "I know you will, Saphira, and I look forward to that time."

Kuthian stood again, his sandalled feet brushing the jagged floor. "You should hurry, Lam abr Daiithil and Du Vollar Bjart. You must go to join your allies near Gil'ead now." He raised a hand in benediction. "Say your farewells, for the Vault is going to return you to Utgard soon."

Eragon looked at Brom. "I am glad we got this time to talk, Brom."

His father stepped closer. "Oh, Eragon, it hurts me to let you go. You have done so much, so many incredible things, borne your burdens so bravely. You have made proud, my son. So proud." Brom's face shone with a terrible, painful joy. "Go well; and remember my last words, son."

Eragon felt the same as Brom looked. "Thank-you ... I am grateful beyond words for the things you have done for me."

His father was growing fainter; the edges of Eragon's eyes were going white. Brom shook his head.

"Go well. I will watch you ... my son ..." Brom walked at Eragon, straight through him, then disappeared.

"Goodbye," whispered Eragon, even as he was thrown back into the empty white space he had arrived in. "Father ..."

His last sight before his sight faded into whiteness was Kuthian, his hand raised in grave farewell, his green eyes the only colour in the foul, dark cave he had come from.

The whiteness was all around them now, suffocating and thick. He tried to cling onto Saphira's mind, but she slipped away from him just like before. Eragon hated it, but he knew now that no harm would come to him – hopefully.

Finally, the mist lifted. He was standing in front of Vrael and Itilara again, breathing heavily and deeply. Saphira was beside him, head drooping as she regained her breath.

The tower of Ristvak'Baen was just as dark and damp as it had been the first time he entered it. Saphira and him were both reeling, still disorientated from their rapid white journey.

His hands were shaking. _Gods above ... _was all he could manage. Brom had come back, Brom his _father_ ... Despite his shaken state, Eragon knew, undoubtedly and unchangingly, that he would free his father – and Kuthian and Korgan and Deynor ...

Saphira recovered quickest. She was alert and watchful, though a little stunned still, nonetheless. Her azure eyes glinted hard and dangerous.

_Little one, I believe we have to be in Gil'ead to meet with our ... friends. _

Eragon laughed fiercely, climbing into her saddle. _We do. _

_--_

There were no lights in the village of Yazuac, though Eragon knew that all ready. It was merely a darkened blot on the ground.

_How long will it take to get to Gil'ead? _He asked Saphira eventually.

_Not long ... I feel full of energy, as if I could fly all day. It is a glorious feeling, little one._

_Is it from the Vault? _

_Likely. And how about you?_

_I feel ... that same as you, I think. As if there is a hidden well inside me, ready to be used at any time – like using magic, but completely different as well. _

_We are powerful now, little one, but I am so glad that we did not do as Murtagh did. _

_We never would have anyway, Saphira, **never. **We're different from them and we **always **will be. _

_I know, little one. Daiithil will have some work to do soon, _she said slyly.

_And will enjoy it, too, _he answered in kind. _I hope the elves are still holding out under the siege. _

_The elves are strong; they won't cave under the strength of only those hundred or so mages. _

_Still, if Islanzadi is killed, it will mean trouble._

_Eragon, be reasonable! She will be in the very centre of the camp, safe and protected, well away from the enemy!_

Eragon smiled crookedly, _What would I do without you, Saphira, to correct me when I am being foolish and cheer me when I am sad? _

_You wouldn't be Shurtugal, in fact, _she said smugly.

He grinned. _I take you point. _His grin faded. _Poor, poor Brom. _

_It is a terrible fate, _she agreed sombrely, _He is not even granted peace in death. _

Eragon patted her scaled shoulder absently. _We will avenge him._

_We will. Ha, little one, I can see Lake Isenstar. I will go up into the lower clouds, so that they do not see us coming. _

Eragon fought back a surge of excitement – and the sickening thought of fighting Murtagh – and sent her an assent. She climbed higher, so that they were enveloped in a grey, moist cloud, impenetrable to any human – or indeed, elven – eye.

He could feel Saphira's excitement as well; her whole body was tense and ready to spring, like a cat on a mouse that it had been tormenting for a few minutes. His own heart was beating rather fast as well. Soon he would cross swords with his brother, his own blood-relative! Eragon's family had been most important to him in the Palancar Valley, but now he was going to have to try very hard to kill his mothers son.

"Ugh," he said in disgust, but he knew that he had to do it. _Saphira, I think I saw some lights on the ground. _

_I did as well. We are too near the Isenstar inlet for it to be the city. It must be the elven encampment. _

Eragon could feel the adrenalin starting to stir inside him. _What shall we do? _

She thought deeply for a moment, hovering above the elven camp. He could feel that her emotions were as rampant as his: _We must be able to see everything. _She angled downwards until the fires of both sides were evident. She hissed at what she saw.

The elven camp should have been in darkness; it wasn't. A black ring of hooded, cloaked, humans encircled the huge cluster of bright tents; they seemed to make the whole area – even from the height Eragon and Saphira were observing – dark and forbidding. No elves were visible, but Eragon knew that even these evil men would not be able to see an elf in such pitch darkness, no matter how steeped in Black Magic they were.

_The mages, _whispered Eragon.

Saphira did not reply for a moment, then said calmly,_ Can you see Murtagh?_

Eragon surveyed the ground carefully, but he could see no dragon, red or otherwise. _No. _

_We must find him before launching an attack. _

_An attack? _

_From behind. If we are silent enough in landing, they will not notice us until they are dead. _

_What about Murtagh? _

Saphira sent a scathing thought to him. _He will likely wait until we have killed all his men; then he will take us on._

_But first we must find him. _Saphira descended a little more, then stopped again. Eragon scanned the dark plateau the elves were camped on carefully. _Still nothing! _He cursed heavily. _I know! _He was hit by a sudden inspiration. _If I can contact Lord Dathedr he will likely be able to tell us where Thorn and his Rider are. _

_Good idea, little one. Hurry up. _

Eragon extended his mind, careful not to touch any of the enemy mages. He could feel a few familiar minds; Lifaen, on duty guarding a tent near the centre of the camp; the Healer, Kira'athu, whom he had met during the Agaeti Blodrhen. She was standing guard at yet another tent, this one containing ... _Islanzadi! _

Eragon debated quickly. Islanzadi was quicker and he knew her better. Who knew how long it would take for him to find Dathedr. He made his decision.

_Your Majesty? _He felt utterly foolish. The queen was dozing uneasily and he felt terrible waking her. He prodded her mind hard. _Islanzadi! _She woke with a jump and began to form layers upon layers of rock-hard defences. To his surprise, he was able to counteract them all and keep inside the queen's mind. **_Stop!_**

She faltered. _Eragon? _

_It is, your Majesty. _

_Eragon! _This time she sounded delighted. _How is this possible?! Where are you? We had not expected any help! _

_Saphira and I are directly above your camp, Queen._

_What are you doing here? _

_We have come to help you – and perhaps recover the valuable item The Red Rider carries._

_I see. _She was thinking deeply. _What will you do? _

_We think that the best thing to do is to attack from behind. _

_What about Murtagh? _

_We were hoping you could tell us where he was. _

_I think we can – excuse me for a moment, I will ask Kira'athu. _Eragon could feel her leaving her tent, talking in a low voice to the Healer. She returned fairly soon. _Kira'athu says that Murtagh reside in a red tent, unadorned but wrapped in a few minor wards. His dragon sleeps outside. We ... _she hesitated ... _we expect that the egg is with him as well._

_Thank-you, Majesty. May I suggest something? _

_Of course, Eragon._

_Saphira and I will attack Murtagh – somehow. I think that would then be a good time for your forces to attack as well. It will bewilder them, at least to some extent. _

_A good plan, Rider. But, if I may be so bold as to voice this, I was under the impression that you were not as ... powerful as Murtagh. If he catches you he will take you and Saphira back to Uru'Baen. There will be no escape, after that. _

Eragon paused, thinking of how best to explain the matter. _Saphira and are confident that we are now able to fight Murtagh with even odds – this is not the time to explain such things._

She was silent for a moment. _Very well, Eragon. I hope we can discuss these matters in more detail after the battle. _

_As do I, Queen. I will contact someone when the time is right ... whom would you like me to contact? _

_Me, think, Eragon. I will lead my people into battle the same as any other monarch. Yes, I will do fine. I will contact Dathedr. Send word when you and Saphira are ready, Rider. _

_Yes, your Majesty. _Eragon broke the contact, returning to his own mind. _Were you listening Saphira? _

_Of course. Shall we descend? _

_Wait a little while for the elves to be ready. They are all on the alert anyway._

_Very well. _Saphira replied, and she started doing small loops to keep them in the position they wanted.

Eventually, Eragon saw what Murtagh's mages could not; elves, quiet and dark as the night, creeping in between tents and pavilions. It was time. _Let's go, Saphira. _

She growled, and plummeted, faster than an arrow on a still night, towards the dark human camp.

They landed well beyond the limits of the guards, which Eragon located quickly. Quietly, Saphira as noiseless as he, he crept up on the nearest out-posted guard. This one was watchful, and felt Eragon just as the Rider came up behind him. Before the guard, whose tanned skin gave him the look of a Hardarac desert-nomad, could call out, Eragon dragged his hunting knife across the man's thick neck. He died with a look of surprised horror on his face, blood fountaining from the clean gash. Eragon stared, slightly sickened. Pulling himself together, he carried on.

The next one was another nomad, as thick and muscular as his fellow mage. Eragon's knife once again found flesh and the guard slid to the ground noiselessly. A churning arose in his stomach. Eragon had never killed in this sneaky, assassin-like way. Curling his lip, Eragon crept forward.

He was now on the outskirts of the tents. Sentries were everywhere. But ... ah, red tent. _Murtagh. _

There was another cluster of tents nearby, and Eragon knew that at any moment, Murtagh's bodyguard would come swarming everywhere, weapons at the ready. The entrance was facing towards him. Eragon walked smoothly, making no noise at all, around the edge of the tent, keeping in the shadows. Another four guards stood on duty. Eragon pondered this problem.

_Different threads, _he thought fuzzily. Reaching for four different threads of magic, Eragon touched a main vein in each of their heads, and they fell dead instantly. Eragon listened cautiously. No shout went up, no alarmed cry at the fate of the four men. Relaxing ever-so-slightly, Eragon inched towards the tent. Debating whether or not to try and find his brothers' mind inside the tent, he failed to notice a huge barbed shadow stirring before him.

It stirred, then got to it's feet clumsily. Eragon's eyes widened at the sight of Thorn, as large the very tent he was sleeping by. Thorn, however, did not waste time.

Eragon leaped out of the way of the boiling inferno Thorn sent after him, before the red dragon was bowled over by Saphira. It was then that a dark, man-shaped silhouette moved inside the red tent. The flap was flung open and the man was greeted by a blue sword, gleaming and pure, even in the half-light cast by the moon.

"Well, well, well," sneered Murtagh, an evil look twisting his handsome, slightly sweaty, features. "If it isn't my little brother."

Eragon sneered just as angrily. "Brother? _My_ family is not like you."

Murtagh smirked, hand playing on the hilt of his wine-red sword. "Oh, but I **am **your family, Eragon. My father was Morzan and he was _your _father as well. My mother was a simple village girl and was your mother too." He leered at Eragon, showing teeth that were a little past their prime.

Eragon did his best to look surprised. "Oh, really, Murtagh?" he said in the Ancient Language, "You see ... you and I are only half-brothers. _My _father was Brom, Rider of Saphira, slayer of Morzan and Founder of the Varden. He was the best man to walk this planet since the Fall of the Riders."

Murtagh's face had frozen in a mask of disbelieving incredulity, before it was gone behind a mask even Islanzadi herself would have been proud of. "But we are still one blood, Eragon. You cannot deny that."

Eragon said nothing, merely raising Daiithil before him. He noted, with numb surprise, that he stood an inch or two higher than Murtagh. Murtagh smirked at Eragon's show of defiance.

"You realise, little brother -" Eragon thought that he didn't seem as happy as he had mere moments ago, "- that you cannot match my power."

Eragon raised and eyebrow. "Oh?"

Murtagh growled. "Surely you remember what happened on the Burning Plains? You are no match for me, Eragon, and I will prove that to you now. I am so tangled in oaths now that there is no way I could let you, show you mercy ... even if I _did _want to."

Now Eragon growled. "I do not want your mercy!"

Murtagh grinned, an edge of madness hidden inside the blood-lust. "We shall see. When Galbatorix has finished with you and Saphira, you will both be glad to be put in my charge. I am not nearly so cruel."

"We may fight for a hundred years and we will _never _serve you or your foul master, Murtagh!" Eragon snarled. "You are just as your father before you."

"Do not talk about things you don't understand!" Murtagh's eyes were popping madly. An owl shrieked, it's voice alarming, and Murtagh calmed himself again. "What brings you here? Surely not just to reminisce with your old friend?" But Eragon knew that he had all ready guessed the nature of the attack.

"What makes you think otherwise?" he taunted. Murtagh's face reddened.

"Perhaps you have come to ... collect something." His eyes crinkled into slits. "Yes, that must be it."

"Enough," said Eragon, coldly angry. "I am tired of talking. If we are going to fight, start now."

Murtagh's grin seemed more the snarl of a feral dog. "So be it, brother." He brought Za'roc crashing down towards Eragon. Daiithil met it effortlessly, and knocked the red blade away. Springing backwards, to the right of where Saphira and Thorn wrangled, he contacted Islanzadi.

_Now, your Majesty! _He shouted to her, and within seconds the mages all around them were engaged in battle with the fierce, angry elves. Murtagh's confident expression soured as he realised that they were being attacked, before the grin was back on his face.

"Let us see how much your training has taught you!" Murtagh shouted above the din of the sudden battle. Eragon did not answer, but instead of raining Murtagh with blows, he took the defensive and stood his ground, deflecting Murtagh's blows with ease. His half-brothers face creased in momentary surprise before settling into an expression of satisfaction: he clearly thought he had the upper-hand.

Za'roc pounding on Daiithil with brutish force, but, as again and again, Eragon did not move but merely continued to defend himself, Murtagh started to slow. Thinking he knew Eragon's strategy, the older man began to steady his blows.

Again and again, Za'roc scraped against Daiithil, red sparks mixing with blue ones. Again and again, Eragon stood Murtagh's heavy swings. Again and again, the swords of the two men clashed; blue against red, good against evil, brother against brother.

Saphira was underneath Thorn. He had made a sudden movement, tripping her and pinioning her to the floor. Eragon's flinch as she grunted in pain distracted him for a moment long enough for Murtagh to lower his blade and slash at his armpit. It drew blood in a quick, deep gash, but Eragon carried on defending himself steadily. Murtagh's face contorted; perhaps he had hoped to distract Eragon long enough to defeat him, but it was not be.

The elves were right in among the human tents now, burning the tents they found, showing no mercy to the humans that stood against them. Still, the human mages were putting up a good defence, using powerful magic, such as the Shade Durza had used, as defence.

A drop of sweat rolled off Murtagh's nose and dropped onto his shirt. Eragon, somewhat absent-mindedly, watched the drop of moisture settle into the red shirt next to, he saw with a flash of contempt, a wide red splotch of wine. Murtagh's blows were even stronger now, crashing both swords and jarring Eragon's arm. Saphira and Thorn were fighting so ferociously that Eragon doubted they even knew their Rider were close by.

But, despite the strength in his brothers blows, Eragon found it easy to hold them off. He felt as if he could stand fighting here all day and night, never tiring, never loosing, never winning. But he did not have that sort of time.

Lithe forms were running past the duelling couple, elves with their slender blades and powerful bows singing. But neither combatant paid them any attention. The elves that saw them quickly turned and ran to find others to battle; it was clear to all that this was a fight with which no one should interfere with.

Eragon saw, out of the corner of his eye, that the stars had wheeled about; it was turning towards morning now. It shocked him to know that they had been duelling for so long. But now his opponent was starting to show the strain. Arms shook, breath rattled, mouth gaped.

Relieved that his plan had worked, at least to some extent, Eragon sprang forward. Catching Murtagh by surprise, he crashed Daiithil against Za'roc, then twisted away again, before slashing at Murtagh's black-clad legs. The older man cursed and lunged forward to retaliate. Now Eragon used all his force.

Clashing Daiithil against Za'roc, he spun the blade around again and banged Murtagh's neck; he grunted and staggered backwards. Pressing his advantage, Eragon rained blows down on Murtagh so hard and fast he seemed to weave a silver steel net around his brothers head.

Murtagh crashed back, off balance, and fell. Eragon immediately sprang forwards and placed a foot on Murtagh's broad chest, pointing Daiithil at his throat. Murtagh's face was blotchy, red and white and streaks of purple mingled in as well.

"What are you going to do, little brother?" he croaked hoarsely, out of breath, "do you really have the nerve to kill me? After all, I did show you _so_ much mercy on the Burning Plains ..."

Eragon prodded the gulping throat with Daiithil's sharp point. "Be silent," he snarled. Murtagh smirked and let his head thump onto the ground. He evidently thought himself safe.

_A white arrow protruded from Durza's shoulder ... the man who shot it was pale. He lowered his bow slowly ... _

"_Men have tried to breach my mind before." said Murtagh firmly, "It is my only safe sanctuary and I will not forfeit it." _

_Eragon stared at Murtagh over a dead Urgal. Murtagh's hand-and-a-half sword stood in it's ribcage. "I owe you one!" _

"_I know" he replied cheerfully, then turned and leaped back into battle on his war-horse, Tornac ... _

Eragon stared at Murtagh, annoyed at the flood memories that had just invaded his mind. Could he kill him ...? He definitely should ...

_The man in black armour unbuckled Za'roc from his side and sneered. "Besides, Morzan's blade should have gone to his first-born son, not his second." _

_Eragon felt a cold stone stone drop in his stomach. "No ..." _

"_I'm stronger than Morzan and ever was. Galbatorix has taught me things you'd never dream off ... spells the elves dare not utter them, cowards that they are."_

_Eragon was disgusted. "Things that should remain secret."_

_Murtagh grinned. "If you knew, you would not say that. Brom was a meddler, nothing more, His strongest spells could not withstand me, not for one moment! Everything he did in life was a mistake ... he was a meddling, stupid, useless ..."_

"No!"Eragon jabbed Daiithil further into Murtagh flesh, angry with the memory, and cursed under his breath. He had to kill Murtagh, he no longer deserved mercy.

Eragon raised his hand. He would use magic, despite the risk. His palm glowed as the magic began to flow. The blue light reflected in Murtagh's eyes. Fear showed now. Eragon chose his words and parted his lips to speak them.

Saphira roared in pain. Eragon did not look, but kept his eyes on his brother, even though his right side was in agony where Saphira had been wounded. Murtagh gasped a bit and his eyes darted around to see what was happening. Eragon did not move. That was his undoing.

Thorn, desperate, had kicked Saphira away, using his strong back legs, then bit into her unguarded flank for good measure before barrelling towards the two siblings. He flung Eragon aside and picked Murtagh up in his front claws, then launched himself into the air, powerful despite the blood that dropped from the numerous wounds Saphira had inflicted upon him, then rapidly ascended, getting lost in the night.

Eragon struggled to stand , side aching where Saphira's wound was affecting him as well; she was on her side, moving jerkily in an effort to rise. Eragon limped over to her, Daiithil in one hand, the sword drooping, other hand pressed to his side.

_Saphira? Are you all right? _It was obvious she was not but there was little else he could say.

_His tail caught my ribs, _she gasped. _They escaped. How are you? _

_A little fatigued, perhaps, but not tired. We need to heal you. _

_What about the egg? _

Eragon waved her question away. _You are more important, Saphira. We can look for the egg after. Let me see your side. _

He moved around to her belly, whereupon he winced. The spikes on the end of Thorn's tail had gone right in, then cut her coming out again. No wonder she had been crippled. Eragon raised his hand and said quietly, "Waise Heill."

The bone mended itself, while the flesh slowly knitted itself together, and her shining scales melded back into each other. As her pain diminished, so did his.

_That's better, little one. Thank-you. _

Eragon nodded, but said nothing. He was marvelling at the limitless energy he seemed to have. Was this what the Vault of Souls was? Simply an extra holding of energy? He pushed it away to think of later. Standing up, dragon and Rider prepared to enter the battle, which seemed nearly finished anyway. But before he could, a lithe figure came not view.

"_Du Fyrn Lettai!"_ the elf shouted, sword held high as a banner. "The battle is over!"

"Dathedr," gasped Eragon in relief. Everywhere, the elves were coming. Blood stained their graceful weapons and most quivers were sadly depleted. Dathedr hailed him.

"Eragon!" he broke away from the buzzing elves and stood in front of dragon and Rider. "What happened? Are you hurt, either of you?"

"No, thank-you." Eragon smiled briefly. "Is the Queen safe?"

"Oh yes. She has returned to her with only minor injuries." Dathedr's feline face looked suddenly furtive. "What news of the egg?"

Eragon tensed. "We have not yet looked ... I do not believe that they had it when they left."

"So then it must be inside the tent." said Dathedr slowly. He observed at Eragon with a strange look of respect.

Eragon nodded. "Let's see, shall we?"

Dathedr agreed, so Eragon entered the red tent. It was furnished very comfortably for something that would be constantly moved around. Dark-wood mahogany stood by a low bed, complete with quilt and blankets on a straw mattress. Scrolls lay littered about, but when Eragon glanced at them, they were only poems and stories. An empty food tray lay by the bed and a wine bottle, Eragon saw with a heavy heart, obscurely ashamed for his brother, was laying on it's side under the bed. But there was no sign of the egg.

"Search the other tents," he told Dathedr tersely. The elf nodded curtly and exited the tent.

Eragon looked around. How was it possible to hide something in such a small place? Letting his mind extend around the whole tent, he located something strange in the corner.

_A concealing spell? _He wondered. The magical feeling came from the far corner. Searching, Eragon found he could not touch the silk of the tent wall.

_He must have hidden it here! _He exclaimed to Saphira.

_How strong is it?_

Eragon felt the spell carefully. He was dismayed to find it was stronger than any ward he had ever destroyed. _Very, very strong. _

_Try anyway, _said said comfortingly. _We are stronger now._

Eragon touched the ward gingerly, then opened his mind. He found it surprisingly easy to open the first layer. The second layer was harder. The spell was complex, so much so that he had to pull away the defences slowly. He knew that even Dathedr – strong and experienced spellcaster that he was – would not have been able to do it.

But slowly it came away. As the last parts of the ward fell away, Eragon found himself staring at a plain, commonplace wooden box. He stretched out his hand slowly. The wood was cool and gentle on his fingers, but it looked as if it had not been used for years. A crease ran around it. Running his fingers around it, he felt a hinge.

He pulled. The lid swung open easily. Eragon's eyes widened and he reached out to touch it. It shone as if polished yet was cool and hard as stone.

The last dragon egg in all of Alagaesia

--

Just for the record, the green light was Eragon getting power.


	28. A Gift

Chapter Twenty-Seven

A gust of cold wind blew from the ripped sides of the red tent, but Eragon did not feel it. He touched the egg with his long forefinger, reverently tracing the veins of white on it's smooth surface.

The egg was a deep forest-green colour, with dapples of a lighter shade in patches. A little larger than he remembered Saphira's, perhaps, but still with the same white-veined, meandering trails across it. The last of it's kind. Eragon knew his knee was digging into the dirt and that his side was still aching and his sword was lying on the ground beside him, but he didn't care. There was too much to think about, too much to do ...

"Eragon?" Someone called from outside the ragged tent. The voice shook him out of his daze, and he blinked a few times in quick succession.

"Eragon, are you ...?"

It was Islanzadi and Dathedr. Eragon stirred, awakening from his daze. The two elves came slowly to stand beside him where he knelt in the dirt.

"The egg ..." breathed the Queen. "Oh, Eragon!" She put a cool hand on his shoulder. "We must take it to our camp. Come, now, we must get away from here."

Eragon closed the lid on the box, hardly bearing to hide the vivid green. Saphira pushed her nose into the tent and nudged him gently.

_Bring it out, little one, let me see. _He could feel her suppressed excitement, but also her worry.

_I'm coming. _

Outside, the huge tent-ground was still smoking from the fires the elves had started, and the stench of burning flesh wandered up to the rapidly-arriving dawn. Elves were piling the bodies, retrieving unhurt arrows and any of their lost swords and deadly daggers. Eragon held the box tightly; it's contents seemed as heavy as a tonne of lead, in a strange way.

Islanzadi and Dathedr made their way through the wreckage and back to the elven camp. It was alive now, the elves singing, alight with the thrill of victory.

Islanzadi's tent was not overly adorned or furnished, but it was a change from all their travelling. She pointed him to a chair wordlessly, and he, not bothering to argue, sat. She also sat and Dathedr brought some food and drink.

"Where do we start, Eragon?" she asked, as if they were still in Tialdari Hall, discussing tactics of a far-off battle. He did not answer, but held her gaze quietly.

The Queen looked at the wooden box containing their long-sought after prize. "Never mind," she said slowly, "I suppose it is not so important, is it, Eragon?"

He grinned at her insight; she had seen that he did not wish to tell her. "Perhaps not, your Majesty."

"Indeed," she inclined her head gracefully. "But now we must decide what to do with the egg."

"It should go to Ellesmera," said Eragon at once. "Arya is there – she is the egg-courier, and it is the safest place for it."

"I agree," said Dathedr, but the Queen frowned.

"You know what happened when my daughter carried Saphira's egg from Ellesmera to the Varden. I will not have it happen again."

Eragon leaned forward. "It will not. Saphira and I can carry the egg, if need be, or guard Arya as she performs her duty. But egg-courier she is, and egg-courier she shall be."

Islanzadi's eyes were unreadable, but perhaps she was puzzled over his vehemence. "We shall see, then. But yes, it must go to Ellesmera. May I ask you and Saphira to take it?"

Eragon knew he had to, but his heart felt heavy at travelling again. "Yes, Queen. When would you like us to take it?"

Islanzadi's expression softened. "You may go when you wish, I think. There is a tent close by you can use, if you wish, and food and drink will be brought to you accordingly. But Eragon ..." she hesitated, " ... how are you?"

He raised an eyebrow. She sounded like Arya. "Well, thank-you, your Majesty."

She frowned. "You have just fought your brother, Eragon. I find it hard to believe that you are perfectly all right."

Eragon sighed. He had known he would have to tell her at some time. "He is only my half-brother, Queen."

The Queen stared, saying nothing. Eragon continued.

"Brom was my father. He met Selena, my mother, after he killed Morzan, her husband, and they fell in love. She returned to Carvahall to have me, then went back to visit Murtagh one last time before she died." Eragon looked at the Queen calmly. He didn't know what she would do, but to him it was not that important.

Islanzadi's face was an unemotional mask. "I see. And when did you find this out?"

"When we returned from the Burning Plains. Brom had told Saphira before he died and she, in turn, told Oromis."

Islanzadi was silent for a while, but when she spoke, it was not at all hostile. "I see many of your fathers characteristics in you, Eragon. Permit me to say that I think he would be proud. Brom himself brought about these current times, despite his death." The Queen, now standing, touched his arm briefly. He was once again forcibly reminded of Arya.

"Thank-you, your Majesty. May we go, please?"

Dathedr watched Eragon closely. The way he held himself – and the quiet assurance with which he did so – suggested that he deferred to no one, and that perhaps he would surprise any challenger. To Dathedr, he seemed so very different for the human _boy _that had once walked into Tialdari Hall, very much awed, and the strong young man that now stood beside his Queen. And yet, there were similarities. He had the same deliberate way of thinking, and he had looked, even then, as if several heavy burdens were laid on his back; now there were even more.

"Of course," the Queen said gently. "Of course you may."

Dathedr watched the Rider greet Saphira, and saw how they communicated for a long while before he ducked down into the tent the Queen had had put up for him. Dathedr turned back to his Queen and smiled cautiously.

"We have the egg, Majesty, at last."

She turned to him, lips compressed. "Yes, it was great victory. And we have our most valuable treasure." But he could see that she was not completely happy.

"Does something bother you, my Queen?"

She folded her arms, staring at the canvass of the tent. "Few realise this, Dathedr – and some of the elves that do despise him for it, and the Varden do not realise it at all – but Eragon is very young."

Dathedr blinked at her topic of conversation; he had difficulty concealing his surprise. Her lips curled upwards slightly.

"Not young amongst humans, you know, but for a Shurtugal – and certainly for an elf – he is just old enough to swing a sword."

"Do you ... do you know how many summers he has?"

"Sixteen perhaps – maybe even seventeen, though it has not yet been a year since the battle of Farthen Dur." The Queen left this comment unexplained and carried on, "and Saphira has perhaps fifteen moon-cycles. On Vroengard, they would still be doing the chores. Too young, I think."

Dathedr watched his Queen's face sadden, like the sun going behind a cloud. "He has done very well despite that, Queen."

"He has," Islanzadi agreed, "but think, Dathedr: when the new rider emerges – whether now or in ten years – Eragon will be the one to train them." Her face clouded over. "I cannot deal with the problems that might arise. I hope my daughter will handle them accordingly."

"Princess Arya is wise and clever. She will lead the remaining elves well."

"Arya is very clever," agreed the Queen, a far-off look in her eyes, "but there are some things that only age can learn." She turned away, but Dathedr could tell she was troubled.

--

Eragon slept fitfully, thoughts of the egg swirling in his mind, waking him from, and then consuming, his dreams. Eventually, he gave up.

_Saphira?_

_Yes, little one? _She had not been able to sleep either.

_When do you want to leave for Ellesmera? _It was not foremost in his mind, but he could find little else to say.

_Whenever, little one; I have energy enough for that. _

_I think you should rest,_ he frowned. _Unless the elves need help in capturing Gil'ead? _

_I don't think so. Their forces were not so badly depleted. Besides ... the egg should be taken to Ellesmera as soon as possible. Oh, but Eragon! The egg, the last egg! I never thought it would happen!_

Her excitement coursed through him, making him fidget under the thin blanket. _I know, Saphira. I never thought so either. _

_Perhaps it will be male, perhaps ... I will have a mate after all. _

_I hope so, _he told her feelingly. _You deserve it, Saphira. _

She was silent, but now something clouded her jubilant mood. _What about __**you**_

_Excuse me? _

_You will have to train the new Rider, Eragon – both of us, really, but you will be interacting most with the Rider. There is so much doubt and confusion surrounding that matter ..._

_I know what you mean. When your egg was stolen, the elves and Varden nearly came to blows over who was to train it; it cannot happen again, not when their cooperation is so important. _

_Exactly. And what if it is a human? _

Eragon pondered this solemnly. _I feel wrong saying this, but I hope it is an elf. A human just won't be strong enough, even after being bonded, to succeed. It must be an elf. _

_I seem to remember Glaedr telling me that the age limit for being bonded – for elves – was twenty-five, after what happened to Talana and her Rider. I also understand that there are few under twenty-five in Ellesmera at the moment._

Eragon huffed in frustration. _Oromis also said that, in our current situation, the age might have to be raised. _

_How high to, in that case? _

_I don't know! _He cried exasperatedly. _I have no first-hand knowledge of these matters, and there is no one I can ask; only a Shurtugal would know. _

_Oromis said seventy-five to fifty – as a rough guideline. _

_The egg might hatch for someone very old. Then we would have to enhance their bond, somehow ... _

_And there is, as well, the fact that elves hide their emotions so well, and are so conserved, that if they had to share their memories with a dragon, they might not be free with them. I knew your mind, simply because we trusted each other. An older elf may have trouble doing so. _

Eragon sighed. _Stuck between a rock and a hard place. _

_Indeed. But all is not so bad, Eragon. We won a great victory, and ... _

_And we found the egg. I'm so happy for you, Saphira._

_Thank-you, little one. Still there is no guarantee it is male ..._

_Murtagh told us that it was male on the Burning Plains! You may have a mate yet. _

_I hope you find one as well, little one. I would not feel right if I were to have one and you not. _

_There is only one, Saphira, and you know that. _

_Mmph. Quite. _

He didn't understand her tone of voice, and so ignored it. _When do you want to leave, then? _

She yawned. _We'll see. I might be rested enough on the morning. _

He turned on his side and checked his knife was under the mattress. _Goodnight, Saphira._

_Goodnight, little one. _

_--_

"There will be many troublesome, nearly unsolvable, very important debatable issues -" the Queen said quickly and sternly.

"We can deal with them," Eragon replied calmly, staring straight ahead.

"You realise that with Oromis and Glaedr's death that you will both be Leaders of the Riders, and will have according power and weight in elven politics -"

"We realise that, yes, your Majesty."

"Such a thing has never happened before ..."

"We will tread carefully."

Islanzadi was about to say another worried thought, but the stopped, scowling at herself for letting her emotions show in such away: she sounded like a mother hen squawking after her chicks!

"Very well then, Eragon. If you and Saphira are ready to go -" privately, she thought they should wait, "- then you can, of course, go."

"Thank-you, your Majesty," Eragon said earnestly. "We will do our best – we know that there may be problems."

She inclined her head and smiled a little. "I know you will, Eragon. Send my ... regards ... to Arya. She will help you, I know. You are good friends, I perceive."

A hint of a flush rose up Eragon's neck, showing that he was not quite as old as he appeared. "We are, your Majesty."

"Go, then. If there is any way you can possibly send me any news concerning the egg, I would be very grateful."

He nodded, and touched his two fingers to his lips, bowing briefly. "Goodbye, your Majesty."

"Goodbye, Eragon. May the stars watch over you." Islanzadi also put two fingers to her lips, then smiled. "Go well."

Eragon swung into Saphira's saddle, checking that the egg was still in the saddle-bags, then smiled back, albeit a bit grimly, at the two elves. Dathedr thought the smile was that of a much older man. "May what Gods there are watch over you – the stars too." He added. Saphira took off heavily, leaving two surprised and slightly confused elves behind them.

--

Eragon watched the elven camp disappearing steadily into the distance as Saphira gained height. He patted the bulging saddle-bag, making sure it was still there. He had spent all last night, after Saphira had fallen asleep, thinking of what had happened. He felt more at peace now, ready to do what he had to do.

And, now he was calmer, he was starting to get excited at the thought of bringing the egg back to Ellesmera. It could change the whole of Alagaesia, the whole world ...! Eragon paused in his thinking abruptly. No matter what people thought, Eragon knew that Alagaesia wasn't the world. It was only one part of it ... there was more of it over the sea. The elves had come from Alalea, the Lethrblaka and Urgals from somewhere as well. No, Alagaesia was only a part of the world.

_Saphira?_

_Yes, Eragon?_

_Did you like the sea, when you saw it? _

Surprised by the question, she took a moment to answer. _I didn't really see it, little one. I was hiding in those cliffs, and Teirm had so many mists and bogs I hardly saw a clear view of it. Why do you ask?_

_I was just ... thinking about the other lands across the ocean, where the elves come from. Kuthian said that Alalea was being destroyed because of the energy Galbatorix is taking from it. _

_I see. I wonder what it is like?_

_So do I._

They fell silent again, both thinking deeply. It was only as Saphira breasted a particularly violent gust of wind tat he looked up to see the green fringe of Du Weldenvarden appearing out of the morning mist. Saphira crowed happily.

_The wind is our ally today, Eragon! We might be in Ellesmera by evening._

_I'm glad. I want to sleep in my own bed tonight. _

_Hmph. _Saphira dropped lower until she was skimming the dark pines, still swathed in morning mist. _And I wish to hunt. I have not eaten for ... a while. _

_We can stop whenever you want, Saphira, if you are hungry. _

_No, I can wait until tomorrow, if I must. _

Eragon nodded and bent lower to her neck to avoid the blankets of damp mist. It was suddenly much colder.

--

Eragon screwed his eyes up as Saphira dived down to Ellesmera. It was still light enough to see by, but night was fast approaching. She touched down with a slight jolt. Eragon blinked and looked around. There was absolutely no one.

The ground was covered in old, brittle pine needles, and everything was as peaceful as always. But, Eragon noticed, the flowers, normally all manner of bright colours, were now all black and grey, as if even the plants were in mourning.

_Where is everyone, do you think? _

_Be careful, _warned Saphira. _We should try Tialdari Hall. _

Eragon unstrapped his legs and arms, then slung the cloth bag that held the egg onto his back. His feet landed with a soft _crunch _on the pine needles. Unnerved by the silence, he dropped his hand to Daiithil's pommel, keeping one hand protectively on the egg.

_Behind you! _Saphira hissed, but with little alarm, as though she already knew who it was.

Eragon turned to see a lone elf emerging from the undergrowth opposite him. Black hair tumbled slightly wildly around her, and her green eyes brightened, however guardedly, at seeing him and Saphira.

She said nothing until she was standing before him, then quietly touched her two fingers to her lips. "Eragon."

He also brought his two fingers to his lips and bowed briefly. Arya stared; she looked as if her mind was on something else.

"What happened?" she asked quietly, locking Eragon's eyes with her own.

He gave a half-smile, then took the cloth bag from his shoulder and gave it to her. "Your Highness."

Arya took the bag, opening the drawstring neck. Holding the thing inside, she let the bag fall to the ground.

"Eragon ..." she held in both hands, staring as if she could not believe her eyes. "Oh, Eragon!"

Eragon smiled again slightly awkwardly, waiting for her to say something. "We should go to Tialdari Hall, Princess."

"Yes, we should." Arya raised shining eyes to meet his brown ones. "You look ... tired," she said quickly; but Eragon was sure it was not what she was going to say at first. He smiled.

"We have been travelling for a long time." He said briefly. Arya frowned.

"Yes, I know." She laid a hand on his sleeve. "We will try to be swift talking to my cousin; I expect you want to rest."

"I do."

Arya bent gracefully and retrieved the cloth bag that lay on the forest floor. Placing the egg carefully back in it, she handed it to him. But he took it and gave it straight back to her.

"Are you not taking it?" She raised an enquiring eyebrow.

"You are the egg-courier." Eragon said quietly but firmly. Arya's eyes widened. She held the egg, then turned to go. Eragon walked by her side, Saphira following.

Arya was holding the egg protectively, a secret smile on her lips, and her eyes were full of far-off dreams; but she looked at Eragon with strange mix of emotions, as if her normal mask had fallen away.

"How is the Queen?" she asked quietly, eyes fixed before her.

"She is well. She sends her ... regards," Eragon said, remembering the slightly awkward way in which the Queen had given him the message and wishing there was something better he could have given her.

Arya nodded, looking relieved. "The elves are ... upset, to say the least. Oromis' death has saddened them, and then your departure before the burial ... I will be glad to give them this news."

"I see. What .. what happened at the burial?" Eragon asked tentatively.

Arya stopped beside a thick beech tree and turned to him with a strange blank expression. Eragon stopped as well, looking at her in surprise. "Oromis and Glaedr were the first Dragon Riders to be buried in Du Weldenvarden. We gave them honours the Riders of old would have, and buried them accordingly. But," Arya stopped talking; Eragon thought she looked older than he remembered, bowed with many thoughts. "But I must show you something there tomorrow. Please do not go the Crags of Tel'naeir before then."

"As you wish," he said slowly. Arya nodded sharply, then carried on walking. Tialdari Hall came into sight and Arya stopped. "Niduen is here; the other Lords are not." Arya passed beneath the sung-wood arch and stood before the doors. "Say as much as you want; you are under no obligations whatsoever."

Niduen stood in the centre of the long room, conversing with a tall, pale-haired elf. He left just as Arya and Eragon, Saphira behind them, entered. Arya watched him go coolly, yet another strange expression on her face, before looking at her cousin. Niduen raised an eyebrow, then smile at Eragon.

"It's good to see you again, Eragon. And you, Saphira." She said, coming down to meet them.

_And it is good to see you as well, Niduen. _Saphira said, nudging the elf on the shoulder. _And we have something for you, for the elves. _

Niduen turned hopeful eyes on Eragon and Arya. "Did you get the egg?"

Eragon nodded. "We did. We fought Murtagh Morzansson and Thorn for it and won."

"I see. I hope you hurt him – badly. Traitorous murderer!" said Niduen heatedly, a look of real anger showing on her face; Eragon sighed inside, thinking of his 'brother'.

"Yes, Niduen, we hurt him badly. I ... I was close to killing him – but his dragon took him away; we didn't give chase. "

"Hmm. But you got the egg?"

Arya dropped the bag from her shoulder and handed it to her cousin. Niduen looked at, touching the smooth green reverently, then she looked up. "This presents rather a lot of problems, doesn't it?"

Arya took back the egg quickly, though she tried to conceal it. "Only minor ones that can be overcome. This egg is the greatest blessing that has happened to the Varden since Saphira hatched for Eragon! And," she said, lowering her voice and looking at Eragon, "I am sure that Eragon and Saphira will help as well as they have in the past to try and make the process go well."

Eragon blinked. Arya was suddenly as fierce as a badger disturbed in it's den, and he wondered what it was all about.

Niduen closed her eyes slowly, then opened them. "I'm sure he will. But still ... I know there will be much strife over this."

"Yes, there will be," Eragon said strongly, "but Arya is right -"beside him, Arya stiffened "- this is a wonderful thing. If a new Rider hatches, it could turn the tables of this war for good. There are many dubious possibilities many problems, but it will be good in the end."

_Brom's arrangement still stands, and we will help it to happen. _Said Saphira firmly.

Eragon nodded in agreement. "Arya will be courier, as before, and we will help. It **will **go well, and there **will **be another Rider."

Niduen stared at them both, then smiled slightly. "You speak rightly, Eragon, and I have no business doubting you. Excuse me."

Niduen left as well, as graceful as ever, but slowly. Arya looked at Eragon, holding the egg. "You will go back to your tree now?"

Eragon smiled tiredly. "Yes, and sleep straight through the day, I expect."

Arya smiled as well. "Then I will say goodnight. Sleep well, Eragon."

"You too, Arya. It is good to see you again." He bowed quickly.

Arya's lips flickered upwards in a friendly, if disant, smile, and bowed her head. As Eragon walked out of the throne room, he saw her bending over the egg again, eyes shining with hope and joy.

--

Eragon stepped through the trap-door and looked around at his house. The pedestal, two winding hands the same as ever, stood before him, standing in front of the door that led to the rest of the house.

His bed, open to the stars, was the same as it had been when he had left, the scrolls of Dwarvish, elvish and Urgal in pigeon holes in the wall, the dining room dusty and unused, as he normally ate elsewhere, and Saphira's bed already filled by her.

_It's good to be back, isn't it, little one?_

_It is. Tomorrow will be ... interesting, to say the least. _

_Don't worry about it until it comes, _said Saphira wisely, _and we have the egg, don't forget. _

_I'm not likely to, _he said dryly. Saphira snorted, and settled down for sleep. Eragon, too, fell asleep quickly; and both dragon and Rider slept peacefully, tired out.

--

Arya's bed was long and low, and she was comfortably warm underneath the many blankets that lay on her bed; but she was not sleeping. In a chest near her bed, the green egg was hidden beneath duck-down pillows.

Arya tossed and turned, thoughts turning to Eragon, then to Saphira, then Niduen and her mother, all sorts of things to stop herself from dwelling on the egg. Eventually she could not prevent herself.

Kneeling before the dark wooden chest, Arya turned the clasps and pulled aside the pillows. The egg was there, it's smooth surface cold as marble. Arya picked it up reverently, holding it up, watching it gleam in the moonlight.

Soon it would hatch; soon, there would another Rider to help Eragon and Saphira, soon they would able to challenge Galbatorix so thoroughly that he would have to fight all-out against them!

Lost in dreams, Arya fell asleep on the floor, clutching the egg protectively. Soon, everything would change.

--


	29. Speeches and Formalities

Again ... thank-you so much for all your reviews! There were so many for just that one chapter ... I thank-you! It's because of all the wonderful people that reviewed that this chapter is now up!

I apologise for the wait ... My parents split up, so you can imagine ...

A/N:) Evadarr looks a bit like Elrond from Lord of the Rings, but in Bad way. Like scowls and frowns.

Chapter Twenty-Nine.

Speeches and formalities.

Eragon woke with a jump, not used to being in the soft bed. He could the familiar chorus of birds outside and the rustle of the pines moving in the wind. Turning over, he looked for Saphira.

_Saphira? _

She was gone, probably to hunt. Reaching out his mind to her, he had sudden and brief image of a large deer leaping through trees. He winced and sat up, feeling the sharp wind immediately.

_Little one, you should dress now, Arya is coming. _

_What?! _He jumped up and started throwing some clothes on.

_The sun has reached quarter-way up the sky. _

_What?! Why did you let me sleep that long?_

_You needed to rest, _she said plainly, _and there is nothing to make a fuss of. _

_Hmph. _Eragon snorted, then jumped as someone knocked on the trap-door.

"Eragon!" It was Arya. He opened the door and she smiled briefly at him. "Eragon, you have to come now, Evadarr has found out about the egg."

"What?" He said, faintly annoyed to be saying the same word over and over again, "why is that bad? He's your uncle, isn't he?"

"Yes," said Arya slightly impatiently, though she tried not to sound it, "but that is the problem. He will try and stop it from being hatched, he will do anything in his power to prevent the Riders from returning."

Eragon eyed her cautiously. She seemed, underneath her fairly cool façade, very strung up and nervous. "Why would he do that? I have no knowledge of any grievances he had against the Riders."

She snorted and sat down on a chair. "You don't know much of him anyway." He raised an eyebrow at her bluntness, but sat down to join her anyway. "Evandar, my father - and Evadarr's brother - was killed by the Forsworn, and Evadarr has never forgiven the Riders for the mistake he thinks they made – nor should he. But he does not believe that the Riders should ever be resurrected."

"I see. Well, Riders or no Riders, it is terrible to keep a dragon from it's Rider, even if they are not bonded. If the egg finds it's Rider and hatches, Saphira and I will train them, whether Evadarr likes it or not."

"A fair and well-spoken speech," said Arya dryly, and Eragon nearly smiled at her tone of voice. "But Evadarr will, of course, be at Tialdari Hall today, and he will try to make yours and Saphira's time as hard as possible. Sometimes," she frowned, "I think it impossible that he and my father were kin, let alone brothers."

Eragon smiled bitterly. "The same could said for me and my ... kin as well."

Arya looked puzzled for a moment, then her face dropped. "Murtagh. I apologise, Eragon, I forgot."

"No matter. I don't care, he's not important." Eragon said, staring at the trees outside.

"No, he isn't," said Arya softly, touching his arm gently. "You are better than him in every way."

Eragon jumped at her touch, but was immediately grateful. "Thank-you, Arya Svit-Kona." He could not say more, but she seemed to understand.

"Good," she stood briskly. "All of Tialdari Hall is waiting for us; we should go."

Eragon stood as well, and they walked down the tree together in companionable silence. Saphira was already there.

_Do you know, I think all of Ellesmera has realised something has happened. I have passed more people than befits a nation in mourning, _she said, broadcasting her thoughts to both of them. Arya smothered a laugh and replied:

_Humans and dwarves are not the only race with busybodies. News of a Great Gift spread throughout Ellesmera early this morning. _

Eragon patted her glittering flank and smiled. _Have you eaten enough? _

_Of course I have. Hunting that deer was akin to stalking a Feldunost anyway._

Eragon bit his lip to stop himself from laughing out loud. Arya blanched, then looked at Saphira's azure eyes.

_Feldunost? _She questioned.

_Eragon did not want to annoy the dwarves, and so I refrained from eating them._

Now Arya laughed. _Very wise. _

_One of the few wise things he did at that time, _Saphira said, enjoying her chat with Arya.

_**What?! **_Spluttered Eragon. Saphira grinned, white fangs showing.

_We should go, Eragon. We don't want to be late. _She turned on them and, carefully avoiding the well-planted beds, left. Eragon stared after her, then shook his head, smiling. Arya also grinned, and they followed Saphira, talking little.

--

The Knotted Throne, as it stood a little above the rest of the room, consequently had a small platform before it. And it was upon this platform that Niduen's father Evadarr was striding. His daughter sat calmly on a lower root and the tall pale-haired elf Eragon had seen the day before stood with her.

A large table stood in the middle of the room, and around it were gathered most people. Saphira, Eragon and Arya joined them, and they fell silent as they saw their Princess approaching.

"Princess Arya," said one, his dark hair braided with black flowers. "Atra esterni ono thelduin."

"Mor'ranr lifa unin hjarta onr," replied Arya politely, nodding to the elf before turning to the table. Curling her lips upward into a small smile, she nodded at them all.

"Thank-you for coming, my Lords and Lady's," she said quietly. She had every elf's rapt attention. "After Oromis-elda and Glaedr's death we were all saddened by the loss. He was the last Rider of the olden days; one more person to help us fight the Usurper King. One less Rider.

"But now, because of Rider Eragon Shadeslayer and Saphira Bright-scales' bravery and resourcefulness, because of their tireless work for all three races of the rebellion, we have one more weapon, one more help in this fight."

Arya looked around, eyes resting on Eragon for a moment before she glanced away. It seemed that she didn't know what to do about the things she had just said about him and Saphira. "One last and final asset," she said slowly, taking something from her cousin.

"The last dragon egg in Alagaesia."

Tialdari Hall exploded into noise. They stared, then crowded round the table to see it. None, though, touched it. A Lord beamed at Arya, then Eragon, and bowed to Saphira. Eragon nodded back, completely nonplussed as to why the elf was treating them like that. The Lords and Ladies were smiling, exclaiming happily, pressing forward to Eragon and Saphira and Arya, touching their sleeves, smiling almost _gratefully, _laughing. One began to sing.

"Argetlam?" said one. Eragon blinked.

"Yes?"

"Thank-you, and Bright-scales too," he said in a low, warm voice. "The egg will save us." He walked off to join the others around the table. Eragon blinked after him.

_Saphira, this is very ... _

"Shadeslayer." Another elf had arrived. She smiled sweetly. "Many thanks," she said, and walked off. More and more of the Lords and Lady's kept coming, thanking him obscurely and smiling broadly at Saphira. Eragon was rendered speechless.

_Little one, you are not acting very graciously. _

_Ha. Please tell me, why are they thanking us? _

_For getting the egg. They know what we did._

Eragon snorted. _I doubt it. _

_Well, _she amended, _most of it. Let us hope it hatches, eh? _

_Yes, _mused Eragon, _but if doesn't, we might have to return to the Varden soon. _

_Many things to do before then, Eragon._

Niduen's father was still standing on the small raised stage, surveying the happy, riotous elves with his black brows drawn into a permanent scowl.

"My good Lords and Ladies!" He cried suddenly.

Eragon jumped and dropped his hand to Daiithil's pommel, turning to see who had spoken. Arya's lips thinned in anger and stared at her uncle in barely-concealed annoyance and anger. Niduen closed her bright blue eyes for a moment, then watched her father warily, wondering what he would say.

"Lords and Ladies!" he said again. "I think perhaps we have forgotten ourselves." Eragon looked at Arya briefly. She was stiff and taught – and angry. Evadarr continued, staring down at them all. "Pray, do you remember who, in the first place, brought down the peace and stability? It was a _Rider! _Have you all forgotten? To condone the resurrection of the very _things _that destroyed the Broddring Kingdom? No. The Riders must not be allowed to flourish once more."

"You talk nonsense, Uncle," said Arya suddenly and loudly from beside Eragon. "The Riders cannot flourish again until Galbatorix is defeated – and that cannot happen without the Riders! Eragon, Saphira, and the new Rider are the ones who will kill him, Evadarr – and well you know it."

Lady Mira stood gracefully, her dark eyes taking in everyone. "The Princess is right. It would be wrong to try and prevent this egg from hatching. In fact, I do not believe it has even entered anyone but Evadarr's thoughts." She looked at the frowning elf. "You will say something you will one day regret very soon, Evadarr, if you do not listen to us."

"Lady Mira, you are mistaken, I think." Evadarr said imperiously. "What if the egg was to hatch for a human? The Rider would be too weak to succeed at all." A hush fell over the congregation at his words. They glanced at Eragon, the only human in Ellesmera.

"Guard you tongue, Evadarr. It will betray you if you are not careful." He said coldly and angrily. "It was Brom, a _human, _that first made the treaty for Saphira's egg – and it was he and Jeod that stole the egg and a found a way into Uru'Baen. You talk of things you do not understand."

Now the elves gaped. Eragon's bluntness was something that was rarely seen or heard in elven politics. And Evadarr clearly did not like it either.

"And you, Rider, cannot have considered this properly. The Riders were a failure. They _must not return._"

Eragon's face was emotionless, but inside he was seething. Before he could speak, Arya addressed her Uncle, equally as cold as Eragon: "Madness. This is madness. When Queen Islanzadi is away, I am ruler of Du Weldenvarden. This cannot continue. The egg must be hatched."

The Lords and Ladies murmured approval. "In that case, there is much to discuss," said one. "Are we to honour _Vinr_ Brom's agreement and transport the egg from here to the Varden?"

"Not at first," said Eragon swiftly, "Saphira and I are the only ones who can do that without risk, but the Varden will need us again, though we will not depart until we are sure it will hatch for no one here."

"That is good, Argetlam," said Lady Mira slowly. "Then we must gather all those eligible for Riders."

"Which leads you to yet another problem!" Evadarr burst out. "Only those under twenty-five years of age were allowed to touch the eggs – there only forty of those in all of Du Weldenvarden!"

"The age limit must be raised," said Eragon calmly to the congregation at large, ignoring Evadarr. "Oromis and Glaedr foresaw this situation. He thought that perhaps any age up to one hundred years of age would suffice."

"_One hundred_?"echoed Evadarr. Eragon could tell what he was thinking. Now there would be even more chance of it hatching for an elf soon.

Arya also jumped. She herself was one hundred years of age. "Then," she said calmly, " a list of all those elves must be assembled, and a time and a place for the testing arranged. Bellaen," she said, looking at the pale elf that stood by Niduen. "Please do so. I expect my cousin will help you." Niduen stared at Arya in something akin to amazement. The pale elf nodded slightly.

"Yes, Princess."

Arya nodded as well, pleased. "Eragon and Saphira have informed informed me that they will stay until there is no chance of the egg hatching for anyone here. Therefore, they will be here to help."

"There is one more thing, Highness," said the black-haired elf that had greeted Arya first of all. "When should the elves be told of this?" he gestured to the egg quickly. Mira, standing next to him, smiled, laying hand on his sleeve.

"May I suggest, Highness, that it be very soon? We should not keep the elves in ignorance of such joyous news." Mira's smile was infectious; Eragon could see Arya's wintry expression warm slightly.

"I agree, Mira. Please organise it for this evening – you may, of course, do as you please in all other aspects."

Mira smiled. "Thank-you, Highness."

"Anything else?" Arya asked the room at large. Her uncle scowled – even more than usual – but said nothing: he had been outvoted. The other elves were silent, but happy. Their faces were more pleased than Eragon – or indeed Arya – had ever seen. "Good. Dismissed, everyone. Thank-you for coming."

They all began to leave, except Evadarr, who stormed out of a back door. Arya watched him go coolly, then smiled at Eragon. "He took that in a much quieter fashion than I expected."

Eragon snorted. "it's the closest I've seen an elf come to yelling at their sovereign."

Arya shrugged. "He does not have much respect for me, that is all. That can, of course, change." She grinned suddenly. "He is not much of a warrior."

"Really? I would expect him to be exactly the opposite."

Arya walked beside him along the carefully planted borders. "He never felt the need to fight – he felt safe before Galbatorix – as did we all. Niduen does not fight, except with a bow."

Eragon nodded. "I know."

"Oh? When she tell you?"

"At our leaving party ... the night you left for the Varden." Eragon said, wondering what she would say.

"I see," she answered slowly. Eragon sighed inwardly.

"Why did you leave without saying farewell?" he asked quietly. She stopped beneath a large pine and stared at him.

"There was no time." She said tensely. Eragon looked her gravely in the eyes.

"Surely you could have made enough for a few words?"

Arya crossed her arms over her chest. She blinked once or twice very fast, covering the bright green of her eyes. She seemed to be debating with herself, thinking of what to day – he hoped. "Come," she said eventually, "I must show you both Oromis and Glaedr's resting place."

Eragon frowned at her change of subject, but, looking at the rigid way in which she held herself and her tight grip on her slender sword, he decided not to ask any further. Arya continued, not looking back at him now. He cursed colourfully in the dwarven tongue, then followed in her light footsteps.

She stopped and turned to him after a few minutes of silence. "We will have to run or the sun will set before we reach the Crags."

"Of course, Arya Svit-Kona." Eragon said politely. Arya nodded and swung round, her glossy hair rippling and shining. He picked up his pace and they loped through the forest until the trees started to recede and got smaller and spindlier. Arya stopped, not at all out of breath. Eragon, behind her, stopped as well, then walked forward slowly, taking in the sight before him. Saphira landed beside him and moaned low in her throat, eyes glued to the thing in front of her.

A large, very large, mound of earth rose before them, the soil stark and brown. No vegetation or flowers grew on it. It pushed into the sky, a place of dead, deserted, desolation. Arya watched as Eragon walked forward, going to kneel beside Saphira at their masters' grave.

The brown earth was cold and soaked with water. It seeped through the cloth on Eragon's knees, staining them as well. He bowed his head, letting the sorrow of his masters death overtake.

Sob after sob of misery overcame him, until he was too exhausted to carry on. Arya came behind him and laid a long-fingered hand on his shoulder.

"Will you come back now?" she asked softly. Eragon jumped, then nodded; he stood slowly, forcing down his emotions. Arya winced. He should not have to do that – then she winced again. Wasn't that what she herself did? Force down any emotion that might be a hindrance? Or indeed, any emotion that might be a help. Arya frowned, then returned back to the present, where Eragon was once again standing. His face was a little red, and the pain he felt was clear; Saphira as well was sad, head drooping. Arya twitched her lips in an attempt at an encouraging smile. She wasn't sure it worked.

_Thank-you for bringing us, Arya, _said Saphira, nudging her with her scaled nose.

"You're welcome, Saphira," Arya replied, smiling at the dragon. Eragon nodded to her in thanks as well, then turned to go back to the forest. Arya followed at a slower pace, thinking sombre thoughts.

--

The sun was coming down again, making the shadows lengthen and waver. Arya buckled on her sword and swiped her hair off her face impatiently. Opening the pillow-lined chest containing the green egg, she lifted it out and slipped it into the pouch on her back. Tonight she would reveal the gift to all of Ellesmera, as well as the rest of Du Weldenvarden. Lady Mira had arranged for the ceremony to be beneath the Menoa tree, where scrying mirrors were in place so that the rest of the elven nation were able to watch as well.

Arya lifted the egg, following the white veins that ran through it with sharp eyes. It was beautiful. She had carried Saphira's egg for over seven decades, and the novelty and wonder had never worn off. But this egg was special. It was the decider in the war with Galbatorix; it was what was might the difference between winning and losing for the elves, dwarves and Varden. Arya was privileged to guard it.

"Arya," said someone behind her, "I'm glad you take your task seriously, but could you please hurry up? The elves will not wait for ever."

Arya sighed and turned to face her cousin. "Well, cousin, why didn't you go ahead and appease them? Or were you waiting for a certain elf-lord?"

Niduen eyed her coolly, but with glint of humour in her eyes. "And are you not waiting for Eragon?"

"I am not, as you well know," Arya replied, going to join her cousin at the door to her chambers. She enjoyed the little sparring-with-words sessions she and Niduen had. "Shall we go then?" she asked politely. Niduen blinked.

"Sometimes, I think that egg has bewitched you." She replied with a laugh, and harmony was restored. Arya did not say how much that remark hit home. They walked to the Menoa tree in silence.

--

The space around the enormous, creeping girth of the Menoa tree was crowded with elves. Some sat, some stood, some sang and danced around the roaring bonfire that heated the chilly night. Apparently it was an unusual thing to have bonfires, as the elves considered it wasteful, but Lady Mira, organiser of the event, had decided it would be a good touch. Eragon and Saphira stood near some very tall roots and watched the goings-on. So far, not even Niduen had arrived.

_Do you think they've forgotten? _he asked Saphira eventually. She chuckled.

_It's hard to imagine any elf forgetting something, isn't it? _

He smiled. _Remember what Angela said? __**'Just because do not display their emotions doesn't mean that they are not subject to rage and passion like the rest of us.' **_Eragon laughed a bit grimly. _I wonder where Angela gets all these wonderful bits of wisdom from? _

_Herself, I would imagine. She's very clever. _

_I know. I'm glad I'm not her enemy. _

_You nearly were, with Elva. _

_I know, _he said again, frowning. _I never got a chance to say goodbye to the little one. I wonder where she is? What if she's still in Surda, without Angela? She won't be happy – or safe. _

Saphira answered measuredly, though he could sense her uneasiness. _Scry her after this meeting. I do not think that Angela would have left her with no protection. _

Eragon agreed, though he wasn't happy. _Talking of meetings, when is this one going to start? I'm really starting to think that Orik and Thorv were right about the elves having no sense of time._

Saphira laughed. Two roils of smoke curled from her nostrils. _Perhaps Arya is just busy. _

_Evidently, or she would be here. Did Mira show you those lists of all those elves ready to touch the egg? _

_She did. Raising the age-limit has certainly increased this amount of elves eligible for becoming the green eggs Rider. _

Eragon said nothing. He didn't feel quite comfortable at the thought of training an elf he did not know at all to be a Rider. He was sure that, after a while, he would get used to the Rider, but still ... it was a daunting prospect. And there was large amount of candidates. Eragon wondered idly if Arya would be supervising _all _of the gatherings for touching the egg. Then he stopped short as a sudden thought hit him. _Saphira, will Arya be touching the egg? She's near a hundred years old, isn't she?_

_Yes, _mused Saphira, _yes she is. But surely, if the egg was going to hatch for her, it will have plenty of time. She keeps it in her own room, and guards it there. _

_Does she ...? _he started asked, but at that moment, Arya herself arrived, Niduen beside her. Eragon stared from the shadows, caught off guard. Arya was very beautiful in the flicker of the bonfire. Her hair tumbled down her shoulders and over her chest, glinting red and gold in the light of the fire, making patterns that entranced him dance across the inky blackness. Eragon blinked, desperately trying to gather himself together. Saphira chuckled.

_Arya might appreciate if you made some form of coherent speech and approached her to help. _

He closed his eyes to try and collect himself. _Would Urgal do? _He asked Saphira weakly.

_Ha, _she snorted. _Greet her, then try and get the elves' attention. You'd be a lot more useful doing that. _

Eragon grunted, but decided she was right. He pushed through the elves and came to Arya's side. Niduen had wandered of and was now talking with group of males, including the pale one he had seen in Tialdari Hall. He touched his two fingers to his lips.

"Atra esterni ono thelduin," he said politely. She turned on him quickly. She blinked once, a flame from the bonfire reflecting in her eyes, then replied to him as well.

""Mor'ranr lifa unin hjarta onr." Arya surveyed him coolly, then smiled. "Have you come to support us? Evadarr still is not happy."

"You know I will always support you, Arya," he said quite seriously, then immediately wished he hadn't. But she didn't say any words of disapproval. She parted her lips in a smile, the flames shining on her smooth cheek.

"Yes, Eragon; I know that. It has been quite apparent," she murmured, then looked out at the raucous elves. Eragon looked at her. He thought the she was the most beautiful thing that had ever crossed his path. Her rounded chin and sculpted lips were outlined, pushed before the fire. He wished he could say something more; but he did not want to break the fragile stalemate they seemed to have reached that day.

"How were you planning to ... tell them?" His voice sounded strange even to his own ears. Arya turned her long neck to where a small stage stood on a large root.

"We will stand there. All will be able to hear and see us then." She seemed oblivious to his dilemma.

"We?" Eragon ventured cautiously. Arya looked at him with vaguely puzzled expression.

"You, me and Niduen. I was hoping that Saphira would stand nearby." She eyed him curiously. "You didn't think I – we -" she hurriedly covered up "- would leave you to be a spectator, did you?"

"I hadn't thought about it," he admitted, wondering about her quick change of wording. "So what do you want us to do?"

"Support me," she said again quietly. "I mean," she explained in a louder voice, "just ... just be there ... in case."

"I see," Eragon answered. "Well, we are quite capable of doing that. Shall we ...?" He gestured to the stage. Arya nodded and he followed her up to it. Saphira crouched beneath them on a wide root, while Niduen detached herself from her group of friends and came to stand by Eragon, slightly behind Arya.

"Elves of Du Weldenvarden!" she cried. They all watched attentively, all poised and alert. No one moved or whispered. "I come before you today to give tidings more joyous than most that roam the land. Eragon Shadeslayer and Saphira Bjartskular have returned ... with a gift.

"They fought Murtagh Morzansson and his dragon Thorn for this ... gift. Only through their resourcefulness and bravery do we have it. My people, I give you ..." she reached behind and took the egg from it's leather satchel "... The last dragon egg in Alagaesia!"

The elves descended into delighted pandemonium. They clapped and cheered; they sang and danced and shouted out loud to each other. It seemed that such a joyous, noisy night had indeed not come to Ellesmera for a long while. Arya smiled, then put the egg back into the satchel. Niduen patted her arm, her bright blue eyes shining.

"Well done, Arya," she said softly. Arya nodded.

"Why don't you go celebrate?" she said. Niduen grinned as if there was some deeper lying meaning to that small statement, and disappeared into the crowd. Arya turned to Eragon.

"Thank-you," he told her. Arya's lips twitched upwards.

"I didn't do anything. You got the egg – you and Saphira."

Eragon cocked his head thoughtfully. "You've done for us than you know, Arya."

But before she could say anything – though there was admittedly little that she could of think of to say – Niduen appeared by her side, offering food and drink, and the moment was lost.

--

Eragon moved the fist-sized stone up, down ... round and round, sending it flying out of the window, then up the chimney. It was a strange pastime, Eragon knew, but he had been doing so for hours and had not yet felt anything remotely like tiredness or fatigue.

_It must be the Vault, _he reasoned. _There is no other way I could be so full of energy. _

_Little one, _she said, having just come back from hunting, _I must say, it is strange to see an ordinary black pebble soaring out of your chimney. _

Eragon laughed, placing the pebble neatly in the fruit bowl. _I can imagine. Did you eat well? _

_Very, thank-you. The game here makes good hunting and keeps my skills intact. _

_I doubt you could ever lose your skills, Saphira, _he said fondly. She sniffed, unimpressed.

_You never know. _

Eragon got up and went to pull some extra blankets from the airing cupboard; it was a cold night._ Should I scry Elva now?_

_No. You should wait until the daytime._

_Why? _he asked, puzzled.

_Trust me. Angeka put wards on the child so that only a friend could scry her. It will be harder to concentrate when you are tired._

Eragon nodded, deciding she was right. _So we are to go to that ceremony tomorrow with the egg? _

_Yes, _Saphira confirmed. _Arya wishes us to be there. _

_Mm. _Eragon spread the blankets and curled up beneath them. _Do you think it will hatch before we return to the Varden? _

_I hope so, little one. I hope so. _

_--_

Arya's desk was cluttered with quills and pens and scraps of parchment. A stiff wind blew in through her window and she wiped the leaves that fell on her paper away impatiently.

The egg sat on her bed, yet to be put away safe and sound. She closed the cloth over the window and put down her quill, stoppering the bottle of ink as well. She sat on her bed and reached out to touch the egg. She had done so many times now, of course – but the sheer wonder of it never ceased.

Arya picked it up slowly, taking it to the chest she kept it in, hugging it to her securely. Arya covered it over and locked the strong bolt she kept on it. It was the first and foremost thing in her mind ... after Eragon and Saphira.

She shook her head to dispel the unwanted thoughts, Arya climbed into bed, heaped under a veritable amount of pillows, cushions and quilts. Arya soon fell asleep, listening to the sound of the trees that had been more company to her when she was younger than her mother.

More leaves blew in at other windows and a spider climbed the legs of her desk, looking for a suitable place to lay a fruitful web, but Arya did not notice.

_Dark cave, an imprisoned life. So much time, not enough. _

_Black abyss, deep hole. _

_Waiting ... waiting for the right time ...the right ..._

_... The right **PERSON! **_

Arya shot upright in bed, eyes dilated with shock and fear. Never had a night terror affected her so badly. Her skin was cold, but covered in a glistening sheen of sweat. A fragment of the ... _dream? _... came floating back to her, though whether in her head or on the cool night air she was not sure.

_... **PERSON! ...** the right Person ... **will come! **_

--


	30. Choices

Thank-you so much reviewer!!!! This chapter is for you. Also, thanks to Meme0, who very kindly told me about the Eldest Deluxe Edition, I have found that Fricaya Shurtugal are publishing the Book Three excerpt online. You have to join, but the excerpt is there!

Chapter Thirty.

Choices.

Arya watched an elf, calm and collected, step up to the raised stand and touch the egg. The egg did absolutely nothing, and the elf stood back down, emotions well-hidden. Arya herself concealed a sigh of exasperation and gestured to the next elf, a tiny thing with large grey eyes, to approach the egg as well.

Once again, nothing happened, and the elf retreated to the others standing in semi-circle around the stand bearing the green egg. She had been the last one. Arya thanked them for coming and they dispersed slowly. She picked the egg up, transferring it gently into the leather bag, and stared round at the clearing, though not really seeing it.

So far, Arya had presided over three touching ceremonies, and by the end of this one she had finished all those one hundred years of age or under in the city of Ellesmera. Evidently the egg would not be hatching for anyone in the capital.

Arya placed the egg at her feet and leant back against the tree, sighing in fatigue. She had, though she would admit it to no one, not been sleeping well in the recent days. After her ... night-terror – she hated to call it that, as if she was a young child to be comforted when scared by a mere dream – her sleep had not been coming easily in the night. It was as if a presence was in her bedroom, _all the time_, quiet but menacing. Arya tried to pass it off as a mere dream, a silly, childhood thing – but she was an elf. And elves knew not to ignore such portents as were making themselves immensely clear to Arya.

She did not wish to be courier any more.

Not if there was to be this ... this controversy around it, all the time. Seventy years she had carried Saphira's egg, and seventeen months she had known that very dragon and Rider, but she was not prepared to play a terrible game with the egg. It's presence was haunting her now, not in a sinister way, or in such a way that it she herself who was being haunted, but merely it being there in her room was ... unsettling.

But she loved it. She did. But it was like a game of cat and mouse now, she thought. She looked after it, cared for it – had night-terrors about it, even if she did not admit it, as she thought it was the egg, not her, that was the problem – and then, when the egg found it's Rider, it would hatch, leave her, and go to fight in the war. With an elf as a Rider, she though bitterly. She hoped it would be human – she could cope with a human. Not an elf. An elf that would train so closely with Eragon, the two Riders would become so close that her friendship would have to extend towards the Rider as well Eragon, merely to have any time to talk to him herself.

Oh, the wiles of Fate!

To think that she, Princess of the elves, was now scared of being in her bedroom alone because of the presence of an egg! And that Eragon was her friend, one that she was closer to than any elf. Which, she thought sadly, showed just how many true friends she had.

Emotions, to her, were very annoying, unnecessary things, that had only interfered with her job as elven ambassador. And what's more, to deal with other races emotions was even worse.

Dwarves, she had perceived, had such thick necks they were likely to get hurt trying move fast; and as for humans, their attempts on a cool democracy were laughable.

Humans, she thought, worked better in vigorous and (occasionally) loud governments. Not, of course, that they weren't capable of holding together empires – humans were the predominant race in Alagaesia – but they were simply not elves. Only elves could be elves. Arya chuckled dryly at her useless quip.

Eragon, she mused, made a good elf. He could be calm and collected, but she knew, though he and Saphira didn't, that he was very much admired against the elves politicians for the simple reason of him being able to speak bluntly and quickly and to resolve matters efficiently. The elven Lords, though ancient and wise, were somewhat lacking in alacrity and briskness._ Arya had once seen a particular Lord take three days to reach the decision on whether or not to add new and stronger wards onto the layers of protection on the small village of Osilon. _

_Yes, Arya decided, Eragon and Saphira could do a lot with elven politics. But not, it appeared, get the egg to hatch. _

_Although, she thought, sitting up so quickly that the egg slipped from it's bag, that was not a bad idea. Perhaps if Eragon and Saphira were to take it to the outlying villages and cities, there would more chance of it hatching sooner and quicker. _

_Yes, perhaps. _

_--_

Eragon sent first one ball of water flying down the cliff, here it hit an invisible and extremely strong ward, and bounced back up towards him. He caught it with a lightly warded hand and threw it around the huge old pine standing behind. Sensing the signature of his own magic that was ball coming up from his back, where the ball of water had hit yet another ward he had set up, he stretched out a hand behind him and caught it without looking. He grinned and released the ball.

"_Mis'asta." _The ball splashed back into the brook and he watched the remnants of the blue magic disappear in the swirling current. Eragon flexed his hand, the Gedwey Ignesia shining, marvelling at how he had lost no energy in the four hours that he had been training with magic.

_I still cannot believe it, Saphira. _

Saphira, hunting in a far region of Du Weldenvarden, agreed. _I could fly as far as Lake Ardwen and back and not tire. A gift indeed. _

_I cannot stop thinking of Brom, Saphira. I hate to think of him, with Kuthian and Korgan and all the others, all wishing for a death that has already come! A curse be in those who made the Vault. _

_A foul curse, at that. Something of Angela's creation, perhaps. _

Eragon chuckled. _Yes, something to turn them black and shrivel up and die slowly, painfully, and in a long-drawn out way._

_We sound extremely juvenile, Saphira. Oromis would not like us to think like this. _

_No, he wouldn't. But if he had been caught in the Vault, so would he, I believe. _

_Yes, he might. But i'm so glad he wasn't as well. There are too many in that place. _

_Aye. But if we defeat Galbatorix, little one, everyone will be freed, including Brom and Kuthian and Korgan. _

_I know. I know, Saphira. It does not make the pain any less._

_We share the pain, Eragon. I come back now. _She finished the last of the entrails of her kill and took off. _Have you noticed how cold it is becoming in the evenings? It's all wrong, spring should be here._

Eragon nodded, turning to go back to his tree. _The worst thing is that this __**is **__spring and nothing is happening! In a way, I'm glad the people of Carvahall are in Surda and with the Varden this year – it would have a cruel and hard time for them, if the crops were not growing and the animals not fattening._

_Very true. When I hunted nearby, there was no shortage of fat and healthy animals. _

_I hope you didn't eat too much of them_

_Of course not! I am a dragon, not a ruthless and stupid hunter. Anyway, my young self enjoyed the the experimenting of different prey. I found, at first, that squirrels were extremely skinny and sour. Hardly worth the effort. _

Eragon laughed, and, having reached the outskirts of the city near where he had been practising on a cliff. _Having never had to hunt squirrels before, I cannot say that I know anything about the subject. _

Saphira sniffed. _Squirrels may not taste good, but rabbits certainly do. There happens to be very fat buck sitting down below and I believe he would make an excellent dessert. Excuse me, little one. I may be a while._

Eragon chuckled, making his way to where he happened to know a very secluded little copse was where he could sit and think. He ducked under a low-hanging branch complete with prickly vine creeping up it, and slipped between two trees into the clearing.

"Eragon?!"

His hand dropped to Daiithil's wire-wrapped pommel, leaping to the voices source.

"Arya?"

She was sitting against a pine tree, a leather back at her feet. Her hair was tumbling over her shoulders and chest, in a way, Eragon thought, showed that she was thinking deeply and evidently many miles away in her own mind. Arya stared at him.

"How do you -" she started at the same as Eragon.

" – Know this place?" he finished, then laughed unsteadily. "I found it when I still had ..." he gestured to his back, "... Durza's scar. What are _you _doing here?"

"I like to come here to think. I like the water." She nodded at the slowly moving brook close by her, the water collecting in pools and gently trickling through borders made of fallen pine needles.

"I like it as well. May I ...?" he asked. She nodded, and he sat down nearby. He watched her, wondering if she was going to say anything, but she didn't. "Do you come here often?" he asked eventually.

"As much as I can manage. I came on the Agaeti Blodrhen." She looked down, a curtain of thick hair hiding her face. Eragon stiffened and said nothing. "It was strange, really, that we wandered here, in the end. It was a crescent moon that night," she added in a tone that sounded amazingly to close to absent-mindedness to him.

"I didn't notice," he said, somewhat stiffly. Arya, though, really was in a state of absent-mindedness.

"No ... I would suppose not." She seemed to shake herself out of her reverie and tucked her hair behind her eye to look at him better. "How are you?"

"Well, thank-you. And yourself?"

She sighed and leaned back against the tree. "I have just finished the last of the touching ceremonies with the egg in Ellesmera." She nudged the bundle beneath her with her foot. "It has, of course, not hatched."

Eragon sighed as well, finding his own tree to lean against. "Pity."

"Hmm. Actually, Eragon, I wanted to ask you something." She trained her eyes on his face solemnly. "The egg has to be taken to all the other villages, towns and cities in Du Weldenvarden. I would like you and Saphira to do that."

"Arya ... Why? You are courier ..." Eragon said, staring at her in amazement. She looked back steadfastly.

"I ... have my reasons. And besides, you and Saphira can go faster throughout Du Weldenvarden. It ... will be better." Arya crossed her legs and picked up a reed from the brook. "The sooner the egg hatches, the sooner you and the new Rider can return to the Varden. It will be better in all cases."

Eragon studied her face, now shadowed once again by her thick hair. He didn't know what she meant – better for the Varden; better for the elves; better for the new Rider and dragon; better for him and Saphira ... or better for her. He voiced his thoughts: "I don't know what you mean, Arya; better for whom?"

"Everyone. The Varden needs you, the elves are safe here and the dwarves are ..." she frowned for a moment, faint creases wrinkling her smooth brow, "... actually, I do not know what the dwarves are doing. No one does."

Eragon blinked. It was true that the dwarves were not yet fighting, but they were unable to, in any case. He put the thought away. "Perhaps. But Saphira and I cannot do your job." Arya started to reply, but he continued: "We have never done so before ... what if we did it wrong?"

"It is not hard," she said patiently, "You put the egg on a pedestal that the leader of the village supplies and you tell everyone to touch the egg in turn in an orderly fashion, and if it doesn't, you get up and go to the next town or city, saying a courteous farewell to the leader of the community."

"Well," Eragon asked her, in all good humour, "if it is so easy, why can you not do it?"

Her patient expression mixed with good humour vanished without a trace. Every line on her pale face tautened; a cold, wintry look overcame her features. "It is _my _decision to make." She stood quickly, slinging the leather bag containing the egg onto her back, and disappeared between two close-growing pines. Eragon blinked after him shock.

What had happened ...? It was just ...

_**Eragon! **_Saphira roared, suddenly invading his mind. _What have you** done?!**_

_I just asked her - _

_I know what you asked her! Idiot! Will you never think before you speak?!_

_I **did **think! _He protested feebly. _I wondered why she did not want to be the courier any more, and - _

_You should have let her! Something is upsetting her, can't you see? _

_Yes, _he said weakly, _a little bit ... I only wanted to know __**why!**_

_She has her reasons, and you don't need to know them. And you are not likely to know them, either, if she does not want you to. _

He twitched irritably. _What do you know that I don't, Saphira? _

_Many things, little one, _she said smugly. He sighed in exasperation.

_About Arya. _

_Many things, little one, _she repeated. Eragon grunted angrily.

_Fine, then. Will you tell me what **happened?**_

_You don't need me to do that. I wasn't here, remember? _

_Saphira! _He said again. _Please? _

She sniffed, mollified at being asked for help. _You shouldn't have tried to trick her, little one. And ... it was cruel. She was distressed; now she is upset. You and her have been very, very good friends – most have noticed. I think she feels you betrayed her trust by doing such a thing. _

Eragon stared at the slowly-moving stream and felt like kicking himself. "Bar_zul._"

Saphira was right. That had been the wrong thing to do. He hadn't seen how distressed she was, but she hid it so well ... Idiot. Gods-cursed hell-blessed idiot. How could he have done that? Betrayed her trust so perfectly ... He drove his hunting knife into the dead wood of a rotting tree stump. "Damn!"

_I need to apologise_.

Saphira snorted, smoke reeling from her nostrils. _Too right you do! _**I** _will be at our tree. _She left with a rip and roar of air, leaving Eragon alone in the clearing. He sheathed his knife and stood up.

"Damn, damn, damn." Looking around, he wondered where she could have gone. Back to Tialdari Hall? To ... well, he could think of no other place she would go. He felt it was slightly hopeless. Ellesmera was a big place. "Damn!" he added for good measure.

He turned in the general direction Tialdari Hall, stomping heavily along – for an elf – in a fairly bad mood.

Tialdari Hall was bustling. Elves weeded beds, sang to flowers, shaped trees, and lost themselves in silent meditation. Eragon navigated his way between them all calmer to the quieter wing where Arya's house was located. He raised his hand to knock on the frame of the screen door.

"Who is there?" she called, her voice, so far as Eragon could tell, showed no unusual emotions at all.

"Eragon." he replied. There was a pause. Then the screen door was pulled back and folds of the taut material fell back to reveal the occupant of the house. She blinked at him.

"Eragon ..." she repeated.

"Arya, may I speak to you?"

She eyed him carefully, then pulled back the rest of the door. "Come in," she said quietly. Eragon blinked too; he had expected her to be cold and hard. He entered her house and she closed the door behind him. They stood opposite each other, him feeling awkward and ungainly, while Arya herself was as calm as ever. Or maybe not so calm. Her eyes were wider than normal, and her whole being emanated discomfort. Also, Eragon noticed, her skin was slightly damp, and fresh smell of soap came to him; her hair was damp, a little bit; she must just have washed. In her open hand, he saw, a small key nestled. She felt his gaze, and closed her fist.

"Arya, I have come to apologise. I should not have been so ... flippant. I betrayed your trust, when I should have tried to help. You have your reasons, and I should not have questioned." He stared her in the eyes, trying to tell her he was sincere. She held his gaze strongly.

"Of course you questioned," she said calmly. "But, Eragon ... it is something I cannot explain," she looked him in the eyes, a nervous fire building there. "The egg is ... it does not feel safe, to me. And I think Saphira and you would be best suited to dealing with it."

"Why?" he said. She had been so (as far as he could tell) excited about the egg ... why was she now giving it up? "I don't understand, Arya."

She looked at him, unsure whether to reveal her night-terrors to him. "The egg – I think it was the egg – touches my mind sometimes. It just gives me images."

"Really?" he said, alert at once. "What does it ... say?"

"Just impressions, really. Dark holes, cold rooms, waiting for so long ... which is why I think that you and Saphira are better off being couriers instead of me."

Eragon sighed. "Do you accept my apology, Arya?"

She observed him gravely. "I do. Friends forgive each other, I know; and disagree as well, on occasion."

Eragon smiled with relief. "Thank-you, Arya Svit-Kona. Our friendship means so much to me."

"And to me also, Eragon." Arya folded her arms. "There is still the matter of the courier – sit down," she suggested, indicating a padded leather bench. He sat, and she followed. "There be some decision made."

"Yes," he agreed. "What I don't understand, is why does the egg always project it's feelings to you? Surely it would be trying to find it's Rider by now?"

"I have been closest to it, and handled it more than anyone else. Perhaps it's merely because I am the one it knows best. Besides, it has rejected all in Ellesmera."

"True ..." he said, "but it seems strange to me. Is there anyone else who can be the courier?"

"Oh, yes," Arya said, surprising him, "many of them; all of them good and clever and quite capable ... but I wish for you to and Saphira to do it, if you can."

"But why? There are older and wiser elves who could do the same."

"Because Saphira can transport you. And," she said, looking him straight in the eyes, "because I know you both and trust you both and I am fully confident that you will do better than any elf-lord could." She dropped her gaze, and glanced out of the window at the swishing pines. Eragon watched her still-damp hair drop around her shoulders in a slightly dazed fashion.

"I am honoured by your trust, Arya. I am sure ..." he paused, thinking, " ... I am sure that Saphira would agree to take me and the egg to the various settlements. But -" Arya looked up sharply at his word "- there is one more thing I would ask of you."

Arya raised a fine eyebrow. "That being?"

"That you come with us."

Arya stared at him, disbelieving. "Why? You can do it fine on your own, with Saphira. You don't need me."

"I think we will," he said firmly, "and we _want _you to come." Arya blinked in surprise; his gaze was very intense, locking her own green ones to his. "It would not be the same to travel in Du Weldenvarden without you."

They stared into each others eyes for a still, tense moment, before Arya answered. "If you wish it, I will come. When shall we leave?"

Eragon's shoulders dropped, relieved. "As soon as we can," he grinned. And she couldn't help smiling back.

--

Sorry it's so short, but I have to go bed, and you all deserve and update and I want to hurry up and get 31 chapters.

Thanks for reading!


	31. Friendly Conversation

Huge thank-you to all reviewers!!! I'm extremely sorry for not replying to your wonderful reviews - I was expecting longer to answer them, but this is up, i don't have time!

It has been told to me in a review that the Eragon/Arya relationship thing is enjoyed, so I added plenty of, umm ... conversation? at the end.

Anyway, Thank-you so, so, so much for all the feedback!! And i'm sorry for the slow update (slight writers block) and It's very short. Ish. Sort of.

Never mind.

Enjoy!

Chapter Thirty-One.

Friendly Conversation.

The green waves of Du Weldenvarden flashed beneath Saphira as she sped eastwards towards Nadindel. It was day not far removed from spring, Arya thought, but the chill of winter still pervaded the air. It disturbed her greatly. It didn't snow in Ellesmera over-much, but still, the elflings should have has the delight of playing in the snow by now. So Arya gazed at the land around her and puzzled.

Eragon, though, seemed to be troubled by none of this – admittedly, she had not seen his face for a while, as flying was not the best of times for talking, but he was fairly relaxed. And so not only was Arya puzzled, she was – though loathe to admit it – bored. Flying was not as amusing for the passenger as for the Rider and dragon.

Noon came and went and Arya could sense the wards protecting Nadindel coming into range.

_We should walk into the city, _she told Eragon. _They know about the egg but nothing will please them more than to you and Saphira with it. _

Eragon grunted. _Aye. We will land now, then. _

_Good. _

Saphira folded her wings and leisurely floated down to a clearing. Arya immediately began undoing the leg straps that were holding her in place, and Eragon pulled at the arm straps that were securing his legs. They dismounted at the same time and stood on the forest floor.

"How shall we enter?" he asked. Arya surveyed the clearing.

"If we go a little way ahead Captain Isbold will meet us to grant us entry"

Eragon nodded, gesturing for her to lead the way. She did so, conscious that the wards would soon be triggered. "Don't use magic," she told Eragon quietly. "Nadindel is very well protected ... and the Dragon Riders have not been here for many years. They will be suspicious."

Eragon nodded again. "I understand."

The sunlight – pale a it was – strengthened somewhat; Arya stopped still, knowing full well what was happening. Beside her Eragon halted too, watching for the reason that she had stopped.

A man began to materialise in the sunbeam; a golden coronet gleamed on his brow, and his face was calm. But a bejewelled sword hung at his side and a quiver of exquisitely made arrows was on his back.

"Princess Arya – welcome back," he said, looking at her intently.

"Captain Isbold. I return, with others," she showed him Eragon and Saphira – somewhat unnecessarily, as it was hard to miss Saphira.

"Argetlam. Brightscales. Welcome to Nadindel. We are honoured by your presence." Captain Isbold bowed, sweeping an arm forward. The he stood back and disappeared, along with he sunbeam. Arya looked back at Eragon and Saphira.

"We can go." She walked forward, calm and collected. The egg nestled in it's pouch on her hip. He followed at a slower pace.

Nadindel was different, Eragon saw. The houses were smaller, the people more solemn and fierce. Though they ran out and stared, they did not sing in the carefree way the elves of Ellesmera had.

"Why are they so sad?" Eragon whispered to Arya. She met his eyes sadly.

"The elves here are the ones who have suffered greater losses. They have solace in each other. However," Arya said quietly, moving closer to him to remain unheard, " they do not wish to fight. That is why they stay in this village, as far into Du Weldenvarden as any large settlements are."

Eragon looked at the staring elves and then back to Arya. "I see." He could not miss her proximity.

"My mother came from this village ... before she met my father," said Arya, somewhat out of the blue.

"Did she?" he asked, surprised. He always imagined Islanzadi to be from one of the royal families.

"Yes." Arya replied, then closed her mouth, for some reason suddenly ending the conversation. She quite clearly did not want to continue talking. Eragon gave her one curious look then carried on walking.

They came to the centre of the village, a wide, spacious clearing of dry leaves and forest flowers. A man and a woman stood in the centre. They stared at Arya unblinkingly and she bowed briefly. Eragon did the same. Saphira flicked her tongue at them.

"Arya Drottning. It is a pleasure to see you safe and whole," the man said.

"Lord Relimar. It is also good to be returned here. We bring the egg."

"Ah yes. Lady Mira informed me of this. When will you arrange a touching?" he seemed very unsurprised at their appearance.

"As soon as it is convenient for you and Lady Nest. We have been travelling long and have far to go."

"Certainly," Lord Relimar bobbed his head swiftly, then looked past her to Eragon and Saphira. "Argetlam, Brightscales. It is a great honour to have you both here in Nadindel. The Riders have not ventured here for nigh on ten decades. It is good to see a dragon again ... especially one so mighty."

Saphira lowered her head to his level, examining him thoroughly. _Noted, Lord Relimar. _

The Lord gave flicker of a smile. "I am sure a touching can be arranged for tomorrow morning. Word will be sent."

"Thank-you, Lord," Arya said. The lady smiled and stepped forward. Her feet were bare and her long pale hair flowed down her back.

"I am Nest," she said quietly. "There are rooms prepared for you both, though we have no dwelling large enough for the Valiant One -" Eragon hid a smile at the name "- but we are expecting a dry night and a copse will be made comfortable for her."

_Thank-you. _

Nest clapped her hands. Yet another elf came padding on silent feet from somewhere. "Salitha will show you to you rooms. Would you, Saphira, like to choose your own place to sleep?"

_I will go now. Good-day. _She took off. As Eragon watched her climbing steadily above the trees, he saw that twilight was almost upon them; he blinked. When had that happened?

The elf, Salitha, padded forward, bowed, and then started to walk, looking behind to see that the two were following him. Arya who seemed completely unperturbed by this behaviour, followed him promptly. Eragon started after her, somewhat bemused by so much ceremony.

The followed Salitha through the village, until they came to a dwelling much the same as all the other houses he had so far seen, but the windows were larger, the creeper that ran around the trunk of the tree very bright and luscious, and the light curtains – he had never seen curtains in a elven dwelling before – were very delicate. Salitha stopped.

"Princess Arya, you have the Liani House. Rider Eragon, you are to have the House of the Morning."

"Thank-you," Arya said calmly. The elf moved off as quickly as he had come, disappearing into some laurel bushes. She glanced at him, then back to the two houses. "We should sleep, then."

"I suppose so," Eragon said quietly. "Do they do this for every guest they have?"

Arya smiled a little. "I do not know. I and my guards were always treated like this. As I say, these people were all hurt in the war ... they and their village is different from any other."

"I see that. It is yet another thing that Galbatorix has to atone for."

"Yes ... but not only Galbatorix. Some here have lived since the Du Fyrn Skulblaka. They have come here to recover."

"And it has taken them millennia to do so?" said Eragon, the quickly apologised. "Sorry, I -"

Arya gave him a searching look. "We should go to see our accommodation." She turned and opened the door up the stairs that apparently connected both houses.

Eragon followed, cursing himself. _When will I ever learn not to be so foolish?!_

But suddenly, halfway up the steep stairs, Arya spoke, looking back briefly._ "_It is true that these elves are different from any other in Ellesmera – that is why they are here. They are the ones that want to cling to the past, to take strength in their injuries. Though perhaps," she added softly, looking behind her again to glance at him briefly, "that is what all eves do to some extent. Remember, and learn, and think."

Eragon didn't quite know what to make of that comment. It seemed to him that it was half mean for him and half out her own thoughts and feelings; yet he did understand somewhat. "Yes ... I have seen that."

Arya reached the top; they were in a small porch, with two doors that stood diagonally opposite each other – leading, he presumed, to their different houses.

"Which one I which?" He inquired, wondering if she was privy to more information than him.

"I don't know," she said. "I thought we would have been informed."

"It can't make much difference, can it?" Eragon said, coming to stand beside her in the little porch. Arya smothered a smile – this was the companion of so much travelling! – and looked at him doubtfully.

"I think we should make sure that we have the right houses ..."

"Oh, well, that shouldn't be too hard – one will be made for a lady and one for ... me."

Arya badly wanted to smile or laugh or even just to tell him that she wanted to do so at his comment – but she couldn't. "There won't be much difference, Eragon. Male and female elves live in very much the same way."

He shrugged. "There'll be something." He looked at the two doors and gestured at the one behind her. "Shall we try that one first?"

She nodded her agreement, so he opened the door and looked in cautiously, holding the door for Arya.

"This must be your room," Eragon said after staring around the house. "It must be."

Arya stared as well. The whole house was woven with the smallest, most delicate pink roses. The hangings on the bed were pale pink and there was a large bowl of overflowing cherry blossoms on the table. She looked at Eragon with a careful expression on her face.

"It might be mine ..." she said slowly.

"I don't think I could stand all the flowers," said Eragon. He looked at the house with an incredulous expression on his face. "It's much more ... extravagant than I have ever seen an elven dwelling."

Arya sighed. "Then you can see why my mother didn't mind living here."

Eragon didn't say anything to that. "Will you have this house, then?"

"Yes. Yours must be the other one."

"I hope so," he said. "Shall we go and have a look?"

The other house was nearly as flowery, but not quite. There were red roses on the walls, but the table, windows and bed were mercifully clear of blossoms. "This is nearly as bad as yours," he said to Arya.

"Quite," she replied dryly. "I will say goodnight, then."

He bowed slightly. "Goodnight, Arya. Sleep well."

She nodded curtly on her way out. "Thank-you." And she closed the door behind her. Eragon blinked at the door.

_What did I do?_

Saphira chuckled, suddenly touching his mind. _What did you this time, little one? _

_I'm not sure. How is your accommodation? _He asked to change the subject.

_Good. A spacious clearing and plenty of bedding that I won't ignite. _She gave a quick flick of her mind. _They brought me coldest mineral water in a stone gourd. _

Eragon blinked. _Oh?_

_Yes, and there are flowers everywhere. Have you **ever **met elves like this?_

Eragon chuckled. _No, I haven't. Arya said they were hurt in the war – maybe their flowers and their trees and their animals are ways that they heal themselves. _

_Perhaps, and I commiserate with them – it **is** rather a lot of flowers, though. _

Eragon smiled, looking around for the bed. _There can't be many young elves here. _

_No. We might be gone again by the evening, then. _

Eragon found the bed in a room off the main room and began undressing. _There's no point in travelling in the dark. If we are done by tomorrow we can stay one more night and then go on to Rona village. _

_Yes, we could. How big is Rona?_

Eragon shrugged mentally. _I don't know. A small village, I think. Smaller even than Carvahall. _

_Mm. Very small, then. Then we go to Ceris. It is a fighting outpost, but we should visit nonetheless. _

_Yes. _The blankets in the bed were warm and soft, and already Eragon could feel sleep ready to creep up on him. _Goodnight, Saphira. Sleep well. _

_I will, little one. Goodnight. _

Eragon was soon sleeping peacefully, the perfume of the blossoms thick in the air. In the adjacent house, Arya was not yet asleep, despite her tiredness.

_--_

There were twelve young elves standing in semi-circle around a pedestal on which lay the egg. Arya watched them all and directed them to their turns. In little over an hour the touching was finished.

"Finished," Arya said, turning to Eragon and Saphira. "We can carry on to Rona village today."

He nodded. "It was quicker than I had thought."

"We should speak to Lord Relimar and Lady Nest. They will let us go straight away."

"Very well."

--

"Lord Relimar, Lady Nest. We have to inform you of our intention to take leave of your settlement and continue on to Rona village." Arya bowed swiftly, then stood gracefully. "Your hospitality has been most generous and we are grateful for your care and help."

"Princess Arya, Rider Eragon; we are honoured to have been able to render you ant service we could. Food and supplies will be brought to your respective houses. You may when you wish."

Lady Nest lifted her hand. "I hope that your quest goes well; this egg is a great gift. Go well, young ones."

Arya did not show any sign of surprise, but she jumped inside as she heard herself being referred to as 'young'. It was a long time since anyone had said that. "Thank-you, Lady Nest. Lord Relimar."

"Go, and go well, my children," he said quietly.

Eragon bowed, then Arya, and they left the clearing._ We're going, Saphira. _

_Mmph. Good. _

_Will you come to the houses?_

_I am nearly there now, little one. Oh, it will be good to be out in the open air again. I have been smothered by all these flowers and trees. _

Eragon chuckled. _All the same, I have enjoyed by night in a proper bed. _

_I can tell. _Saphira said dryly. _What about Arya?_

Eragon almost stumbled. _I'm sorry? _

_How is Arya? _Saphira repeated patiently.

_I don't know! _

_Ask her._

_Saphira, what are you – _

She hissed as she skimmed over head. Arya looked up in well-disguised alarm._ I mean that you have not been talking to her and that your friendship has suffered accordingly! Now is not the time, but I expect better next time we make camp._

Eragon digested this slowly. She was right. He and Arya had not been level of talk and companionship as before they had got the egg, though not unbearably so. _You sound like Brom, _he told Saphira. She sniffed.

_Then you are likely to do as I say. _

_Of course. _

She grunted, pleased. _Be quick, _she said to both of them as she settled down on the grass in front of the houses. Arya blinked at being told be 'quick', but then she turned and went into the house, closely followed by Eragon. _Good. _Saphira said vehemently.

--

The rain thundered on Saphira's scales, streaming down her sides and then plopping back to the ground. The cold, heavy droplets landed on Eragon's face and rolled down his neck in icy rivulets. Arya's body was cramped and wet and she pressed herself closer to Eragon in front. They were both soaking wet, cold, and miserable. And already the light was failing.

_I'm landing now, Eragon. This rain is exasperating; I cannot see three ells into the distance!_

Eragon grunted. _We are not faring much better either. _He could feel Arya agreeing with him.

_It won't be any better down in the forest floor, _Saphira warned him. _It it up to you and Arya._

Eragon snorted._I bet it'll be better than weathering the whole storm from up here, Saphira._

_I land, then. _

The clearing was small, overshadowed by three large oak trees. The floor was thick with their fallen leaves, and the leaf-mulch was squashy and smelly. It rather reminded Eragon of one of his more unpleasant hunting trips into the Spine.

"Oh, we'll be very comfortable here," he said a little sarcastically. Arya made a slight choking noise. Amusement, he wondered?

"We'll manage. We have plenty of blankets," she said calmly.

_The wind is picking up. You can't risk a fire, _said Saphira suddenly. _And it comes from the East. _

Eragon could hear Arya's sharp intake of breath, even over the wind. "This is wrong," she said, her words nearly swallowed up in the wind that was indeed very cold and fierce. "We should be coming to near–spring now! The weather is _confused!_"

That was extremely close to the mark; Eragon did not want lie to her, but he was not sure if he could tell her about the Vault; he said nothing about it.

_Sleep under my wing, young ones. The wind and rain cannot hurt you that way. _Saphira stretched out her leg and front paw, and opened her wing. _Take the saddlebags and then you can eat as well. Quickly, before it gets any worse. _

Eragon obediently leapt onto her withers – an easy jump, as she was already lying down down – and began undoing the straps. _What about the saddle? _

_Leave it on. I can manage for one night. Besides, the mud will ruin it. _

_All right. _

Saddlebags untied and blankets retrieved from them, Saphira opened her wing again and beckoned to the other two. _Hurry up. _

Eragon did as she said, but Arya hesitated; water was streaming down her face and clothes, but she didn't move. "It is a terrible breach of etiquette ..."

_No, it isn't, Arya. We wish for you to be safe and warm. It is no insult if we decide to so ourselves. _

Arya met Saphira's eyes; _Thank-you. _

_You are welcome, young one. Come now; you are soaking. _

Arya lay against Saphira's side, sitting on a blanket, head leaning somewhat gingerly against Saphira's flank, her shoulder lightly touching Eragon's. He was warm, despite the icy water that saturated his clothing. Saphira had been warm and kind and unselfish to her. Eragon had always been good to her, and now he was different too. More self-assured and confident – more capable too. Faster, stronger – older. He was, inescapably, older. Arya was not actually sure how old he was. The thought startled her.

So she was safe and warm, sleeping under a dragon's wing. It was very strange, thought Arya, but many things were changing now ... and she could deny that she was happy under the blue membrane of Saphira's wings.

Despite the foul weather, Arya slept well that night.

--

Eragon, Arya, and Saphira sat around a spitting, fitful fire. They had been all the way around Du Weldenvarden – Ceris, Rona village, Osilon, Silthrim, Ilia Feon, Kirtan – each time presenting it to various elves, greeting rulers of the different settlements, but each time the egg remained still and silent. It did not so much as squeak.

It was dry for the first time in days, and the firewood was just about dry enough to burn. "What do we do with the egg now?" said Eragon eventually, toying disinterestedly with his piece of bread.

"I have already made it clear to Tialdari Hall that we _**must**_ honour Brom's terms – therefore it has to go to the Varden – or at least Surda in search of a Rider."

Eragon nodded distractedly. "It can't be now, though."

Arya sighed, watching a shred of lichen be toasted by the encroaching flames. "It is such a delicate situation. When Saphira's egg was stolen, the Varden and my mother nearly came to blows, but there _was _a solution. Now ... well, it is complicated to be sure."

"Aye. The egg may be our only chance, but the Varden and the Queen have already invaded – and we'll be needed when they face war again. So even if the egg were to hatch we would have to stay in Ellesmera and train them."

"While leaving the Varden vulnerable," said Arya. Eragon shook his head slightly in disagreement.

"They can hold their own for a month or two – it would be folly to attack in this weather, in any case. They're strong."

Arya looked unconvinced. "They would be safer with you there with them."

"Well," said Eragon brightly, "we might be. If the egg doesn't hatch, we'll be more useful with Nasuada anyway."

Arya didn't say anything. Would they really be more happy with Nasuada than they would be staying Ellesmera? If the rumours were true, the two were much closer than a vassal and liege-lord normally were – to the point of intimacy, perhaps. But Eragon was immortal – he would live on while Nasuada faded away with age. Did he not realise that? "You are near-immortal now, Eragon. Have you ... realised that yet?"

Eragon's more cheerful expression faded. He gave her a calculating glance. "I realise that, yes. But though it is a given fact to Dragon Riders, Saphira and I may not live another full year."

Arya stared at him, shocked by the bluntness of the short statement. "Be that as it may, there you may still survive. I tell you only as a friend, Eragon: immortality is not forever, but it is a very long time."

"I appreciate it, Arya," he smiled at her; "Truth be told, I have not given much though to it – I never expected to do more than live and die in Palancar Valley. I think a part of me still expects that. I was not brought up to fight."

Arya gave him a fathomless look. "But you were named _Eragon_. You may not have been brought up to it, but you _were_ born to be Dragon Rider."

Eragon ducked his head, staring thoughtfully into the fire. "That is an utterly new concept to me, Arya ... I have never thought of it that way."

"It is true," she said shortly. "_Wyrda _is something every elf respects. Your mother named you well."

"Thank-you, Arya ... it means a lot to me," Eragon said gravely. He caught her eyes and held her gaze. "I never knew my mother – she left shortly after she gave birth – but I am glad she named me as she did."

Arya looked up, over the fire, and found him looking at her. "I never knew."

"Few do. The people of Carvahall believed that I was Garrow's son. Her pregnancy was barely noticeable." Eragon poked at a stick morosely. "Roran remembers her – he had three winters when she came." He sighed. "I never thought for more than one short moment about my unknown Aunt Selena."

Arya stared at Eragon. He could not read her look. "I'm sorry."

He blinked at the seeming oddness of this statement. "It is strange ... I have never thought that – always I have taken it for granted."

"You should not do that. When you begin to take things for granted, you become fixed in you thoughts. Then, when everything changes, you are shaken and shocked ... and incapable," said Arya with a certain amount of heat.

"You talk as if from personal experience." The fierce look in her eyes was unnerving.

"I do. I have had a long life in which to learn such things." Eragon saw her hand clench and unclench in a very uncharacteristic show of emotion. "A very long life," her voice dropped to a whisper. "And as filled with mistakes as any mortals."

Eragon looked at her. She was thinking of some long-ago thing, and he thought – was it a trick of the light? - that he saw hurt in her eyes. "Everyone makes mistakes."

"They do."

Eragon sighed. "We should sleep."

"Aye." Arya stood up and they both began shaking out their sleeping rolls. It was good to be inside the warmth of the many blankets, and it kept the keen wind out of their bones.

"Sleep well, Arya."

Eragon said it so sincerely that she looked across the dying fire to meet his bright brown eyes.

"And you, Eragon," she said, then smiled. He returned it warmly, and they both fell asleep in a companionable way, facing each other across the fire.

The egg had been silent since setting out from Ellesmera. Arya got no more night-terrors, and Saphira had not felt it either. Arya, feeling just slightly happier because of her talk with Eragon, settled down for a peaceful sleep.

But then the egg reached out and touched Arya's mind – again.

--


	32. Under the Pines

I know, I know ... it's short. Bear with me! And thanks for all the reviews!!!!!!!!!

Chapter Two.

Under the Pines.

"NO!"

Eragon shot upright, hand already reaching for his hunting knife. Arya was sitting up in her sleeping roll, wide-eyed. "Arya?" he said softly, "what's wrong?"

"I ... Just a night-terror, it was ..." She ran a hand through her hair. "I'm fine. Go back to sleep."

"Are you sure?" She didn't look all right to him.

"Yes, of course," she said brusquely. Eragon looked at her, unconvinced.

"I was under the impression that elves are not given to dreams."

Arya blinked. "No, they are not ... But I am _fine, _Eragon - quite well.

"All right," he said cautiously. "Wake me up if anything happens. Saphira is on watch."

Arya glanced at Saphira, who was watching them both calmly. "Goodnight," she said for the second time that evening.

"'Night, Arya." Eragon slipped back under his blankets, watchful. He still didn't believe her. Arya was touched by his concern, but really! It had been only a small dream.

But as Arya also pulled her covers over herself, relishing the warmth, she found that _she_ didn't quite believe herself, either.

--

Eragon's eyes snapped open, searching for the thing that had woken him up. Seeing nothing but Saphira still keeping guard and Arya apparently asleep on the other side of the fire, he relaxed a little. Likely it had just been a hunting owl or deer.

He closed his eyes again, glad that Saphira was on watch.

--

He woke again, this time faster and with beating heart. Saphira was hunting close by, he could tell; but when he looked over to Arya, he saw that she was also awake. When she saw him, she sat up.

"Something woke me up," she said quietly.

"Me as well. An animal?"

"I don't know." For some reason, they were speaking in hushed tones. They both sat, alert and poised, waiting for the thing to come again. Just as Eragon was about to speak, at last they both heard the elusive sound.

_Eek!_

Eragon jumped; Arya's hand twitched.

_Eeek!_

Eragon climbed quietly out of his bedroll, hand on his knife. Arya stood as well, wind rippling her light tunic.

_Eek! _The squeak said insistently. Eragon froze, listening to see where it was coming from. "Only once in my life have I heard a noise like that," he said to Arya.

"When?!" she hissed back, unnerved.

"When Saphira was hatching."

Arya stood stock still as this information sunk into her; then she hurried to her pack, hair billowing and clothes flapping, like sprite a in the night.

Eragon knelt opposite her, and slowly, fumbling with the buckles, she undid the straps. The egg gleamed in the moonlight. She put her hands around it and lifted it out, then put it hurriedly on the earth between them.

_Eek! _As it uttered this last squeak, it began to rock; it pivoted on it's end, rolling first to Eragon, then Arya. Then, as they both watched, breathless, it fell silent. A crack appeared with a sharp snap; then another, and another. Slowly, a part on the top was pushed up. A flash of green was seen, then again as it pushed it's head right out of the egg, then the rest of the body.

The wings, damp and thin, trailed in the dust. The head, slightly too big, wobbled a little, green eyes blinking with bony eyelids. Claws, sharp and already deadly, were brightest white.

There was a moment of silence when nothing happened, then a loud crash as Saphira hurtled back to the camp. The hatchling eyes Saphira, then turned it attention back to he one human and one elf.

It tottered on minutely-scaled legs as it lurched to Eragon, then shied away, then towards the fire. Finally, when it got it's legs, it stopped, and merely watched them.

"Whose ... whose is it?" Arya breathed, glancing for one moment at Eragon, then back down at the dragon.

"Certainly not mine ... and definitely not Saphira's," Eragon said just as quietly. "Try extending your hand."

Arya reached out her hand. It looked at the approaching limb, but did not move. When Arya saw this, she paused, hand outstretched, and looked at Eragon in hesitation.

"Touch him." Eragon knew the pain would be awful, but it had to be done.

Arya once more reached fore the hatchling. She placed her hand on it's small, still-damp head.

From the gap between her hand and it's head, a silver light began to glow. If got brighter and brighter, until Eragon, even with his elf-eyes, could see nothing but Arya's dark hair billowing in the magical current.

Arya screamed. It hurt Eragon to know she was in such pain, but it could not be helped. Arya screamed again, and Eragon leapt behind her, holding her shoulders and back tightly. She was shaking violently, teeth gritted, eyes squeezed shut against the pain and blinding light through which neither of them could see.

Still it continued, and Eragon held tight to Arya. She shook and screamed, and the dragon was impossible to see through the light.

Eventually, it started to faded. Arya's body, exhausted and pain-ridden, fell limp and boneless into his arms. He held her closely, worried.

"Arya?_ Arya?"_ he, from behind, pushed her sweaty hair from her forehead. She stirred and moaned, and sank back into his embrace.

The dragon watched all this with wise, knowing eyes. The ancient knowledge that dragon and Riders share had been born within him, and he knew what was happening.

"Arya ..." he lifted her a little higher off the dirty floor, and she opened her eyes.

"My hand ..!" Her hand jumped to her wrist, which she held tightly. "Ohh ..."

Her dazed gaze landed on the dragon. She gasped, and struggled against Eragon's grip; only then did she notice that he was holding her. "What ... happened?"

"You bonded with your dragon." He gripped the hand that was still holding her wrist and lifted it gently up so that she could see. "You have received the Gedwey Ignesia."

Arya touched the silver mark gingerly, and jumped at the tingling sensation that ran up her arm.

Eragon held tighter, gentle but firm. "You are dragon and Rider now."

--

So how was it? A good hatching? Don't flame me on my choice of Rider!! I know it's short, but it is a good place to stop. (for me)


	33. Argetlam

Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed!!!! I love each and every one.

I know ... short again ... but hey! Next one is interesting, to say the least.

Chapter Thirty-Three.

'Argetlam'.

Eragon pressed a water skin into Arya's clammy hand. "Drink. It will help." She obediently – Eragon thought that it was her exhaustion that was responsible for it – lifted the bottle to her lips and trickled it into her mouth.

The hatchling sat where it was. It watched with solemn but bight eyes as Eragon – who had certainly not had any help during his bonding – did his best to make Arya's less awful. Saphira loomed over them all, a comforting presence for Eragon and Arya, and a rather difficult distraction for the young dragon.

Arya held her hand, the silver Gedwey Ignesia glinting in the fitful light of the fire. It still tingled, but was infinitely better than the previous pain. She stared at the small dragon warily.

"What do I do? I ... there isn't ..." She swallowed. She looked more vulnerable than he had ever seen her; Eragon wished he could do more for her.

"Saphira and I took months to start communicating, and she was the one to speak first. I don't think you should try to talk to him, but ... just reach out to touch him again."

Arya glanced at the dragon, strangely reluctant. Then she reached out her hand, much like she had first of all. The dragon did not shy away, but thrust it's head up into the palm of her hand, and then stumbled closer to her.

A small, hesitant smile curled Arya's lips. She touched the bony cheek and slowly ran her hand along his neck. "He's beautiful."

Eragon almost sighed with relief. "Yes, he is."

Saphira harrumphed in a carefree sort of way. _**He**__ tried to smash my egg – after trying to sell me!_

_I didn't **know;** it's not my fault. Has he talked to you at all? _Eragon asked, glancing at the hatchling.

_No. I expect he'll be hungry soon, though._

Eragon nodded thoughtfully. "Wait until he tells you he's hungry," he told Arya. "He won't ask me, or Saphira – it'll be you he'll want."

"Oh," she said blankly. The dragon, small but more used to it's legs now, bounded up to Arya. She sat with her long legs folded, and he sprang into them with a flourish. He butted her chin rather like cat; Arya grinned, surprising Eragon, who had never seen such an expression on her face. He smiled as well, pleased.

The dragon, from Arya's lap, her hand resting on his head surveyed the camp. Eragon had thrown some logs on it so that they would have light and warmth, and their bedrolls were rumpled and messy after their abrupt awakening. He snorted.

Eragon, who had just been turning to attend to the fire again – dry wood was in short in supply – swung back round as Arya made a sharp noise. He looked at her in alarm.

"What – ?"

"I didn't think he would contact me this early," Arya said expressionlessly. "Did Saphira?"

"Yes, she did – but ... has he now?"

"Yes." Arya glanced up at him quickly. "He's _hungry._"

"Ah." Eragon grinned. "I thought that might be it."

_He''l want some meat – we dragons can't eat your rabbit food. I will be back soon. _Saphira said as she launched herself into the air. Eragon watched her go, then turned back to Arya.

"She'll bring a rabbit or two, I expect. That'll feed him till tomorrow." Arya looked doubtful.

"Only until tomorrow?"

Eragon glanced up at the sky. It was still dark, but dawn was not far away. "He will want a lot of food – after a few days he will be able to find it himself, once we get back to Ellesmera. But for now Saphira will catch as much as he needs or bring back some of her own kill."

Arya quite clearly didn't like this topic of conversation. She smiled weakly. "I am glad it will not take long until he can fend for himself, then. I would hate to keep asking Saphira and you to feed him when I could not."

"I am sure that if you had to you would, Arya." Eragon said quietly.

"Perhaps."

Saphira hovered overhead, then slowly descended. She shuffled her wings, then threw her burden to Eragon. They landed by his feet, and glanced down at them. Two rabbits, cleanly disposed of.

"Here," he told the hatchling cautiously. "Food." It looked at him in a very suspicious way. Eragon looked back down at the rabbits. _He cannot eat this. _Eragon sat down and took out his old hunting knife. "I'll skin and clean them," he told Arya. She frowned slightly, but for some reason did not turn away.

Eragon placed his knife on the rabbit, slightly disgusted at having to do this again after his vow. To his surprise, however, he settled into the rhythm of the skinning easily, until he was doing it as deftly as he had done before his training. Arya did look away now, but kept glancing back.

Eragon slit the meat into reasonable chunks, then held them out to the dragon. He looked at Eragon disdainfully and then snapped at him, showing all his minute white teeth. Eragon withdrew his hand slowly with a respectful look. He smiled at Arya. "It seems he does not with to associate with me. You'd better feed him."

Arya took the meat doubtfully. As her hand touched it, he felt her shudder, just a tiny bit. She dangled the meat over the dragon's head, and he caught them, ripping them out her hand. She wiped her hand on her tunic gratefully.

"He wants more," she said, glancing at the last rabbit. Eragon promptly began skinning the other one, slicing it into thin strips. He passed it to Arya; and the hatchling, not bothering to wait, snatched it out of her hands.

_He has a bottomless pit for stomach, that one, _Saphira said with some amusement.

_So had you. _

_Yes, but it is ... strange to see him as a hatchling. He's very small. _Saphira, crouching by Eragon, lengthened her neck to peer at the dragon. _And a beautiful colour. _

Eragon smiled softly, placing his hand on her neck. _He is. Very beautiful. _

The hatchling was not quite asleep, but his head was resting on Arya's thigh and his eyes were drooping shut. Arya laid her hand on his head gingerly, and looked at Eragon. "You and Saphira should probably rest."

"And you, too. You've done far more than us."

Arya looked down at the little green dragon, his scales glinting in the light of the fire. "Where can he sleep?"

Eragon laughed. "Wherever he wants to. You'll just have to wait and see."

Arya stood up gracefully, the dragon falling to the ground. He squealed and Arya looked down. Then she went to her bedroll, and, quite calmly, lay down and pulled the covers over herself. The hatchling watched all this suspiciously.

Eragon could see her eyes still open and her body was tense. He turned his gaze back to the hatchling. It growled. Eragon quietly began to walk back to his sleeping roll as well. As he pulled the covers over himself, the hatchling moved. Around the fire and over to Arya, he pulled back her covers – Eragon had to stifle a laugh at a dragon acting like a wilful child – and pushed himself against her chest. He rested his head just below hers on the rug she was using as a pillow and glanced around the camp sleepily.

Eragon could that Arya still had her eyes open, and she was staring hard at the hatchling. He turned his head on his pillow and butted her chin affectionately. And with that Arya put her head down again and pulled the blankets right up to her chin. Eragon thought she looked more peaceful than he'd have imagined.

Eragon, though tired, did not sleep for while, his mind whirling with many different thoughts. Behind the hatchling and beneath her blankets, Arya's green eyes were still wide open.

--

They made a sort of pouch for the hatchling – who was not impressed by it – and in that way Arya could hold him as they flew. Saphira was full of energy, and already they had flown leagues.

Arya sat before Eragon, the dragon in his arms. He liked the flying, and he was struggling to get loose. Arya held him tight, though, and eventually he gave up. Eragon, though, was vaguely worried. Arya, even though her mental walls were as strong as ever, was worried. She had not spoken since the early morning while they had been making the sling.

They were close to Ellesmera, and all the time Arya grew tenser.

_There cannot be a Rider in the royal family, _Arya said suddenly, startling Eragon.

_Excuse me?_

_I am the next in line for the throne. But I can never take it now; a Rider cannot rule the elven nation. _

_You may never have to take it. _

_Perhaps. I have not seen my mother for many months – _her thoughts quavered – _but the last time I saw her, she looked old. If she does not ... die ... then she will abdicate in favour of me. _

Eragon frowned, wondering at her sudden burst of confidence in him. _You should not worry about such things yet, Arya. Wait until you have told Niduen. _

_Uncle Evadarr will not be pleased._

_You certainly do not need to worry about him. We have come against him before and won. _

_Yes ... yes, we have, _Arya said slowly. They fell silent and did not speak again.

--

Saphira landed in a closed-in part part of Ellesmera, though close to Tialdari Hall. Arya, carrying the young dragon, slid out of the saddle and glanced around. "We will haw to hide him; the Lords must be the first to know."

_How are you going to do that? _Saphira enquired, peering over Arya's shoulder at the dragon.

"I ..."

"Hide him in your tunic," Eragon said helpfully. Arya stared.

"I can't do that," she said, shocked.

"How, then?"

"I don't know."

_He will stay with me until it is time, then we will come together. _She eyed the hatchling beadily. _But you may have to tell him so, Arya. _

_But he has not spoken yet, _Arya protested.

_Just give an impression – show him that he must stay here._

Arya's face glazed over as she talked to the hatchling. Finally she looked up. "I think he understands."

"Good. Shall we go?"

Arya nodded, and they set off together towards Tialdari Hall. There were some elves about and they touched their fingers to their lips courteously, but no more. They entered Tialdari Hall quietly. A few elves sat about or played runes and numbers; Niduen was nowhere in sight.

She was, however, in the Throne Room. She sat comfortably on a bench, a long piece of clothing of some silver-grey material over her knees; a thin needle was in her hand. Her head shot up as they entered and she smiled.

"Arya!" she cried, standing up, the silvery material falling from her lap. "And Argetlam, of course. Have you returned from your quest?"

Arya raised her eyebrow at her cousin's humour and good mood. "Yes, we have."

"What news?"

Arya did not beat about the bush. "The egg has hatched."

"What?!" Niduen's eyes widened. "For whom?!"

"For me, cousin."

Now Niduen sat down abruptly. But before anyone could say anything else, there was sudden rush of many elves entering the Throne Room. And, Eragon saw with a sinking heart, Evadarr had made it his business to attend.

While all the others Lords and Ladies were still greeting Arya and Eragon, he was looking at Niduen. He glanced at the beautiful cloth lying at her feet with a strange look on his face; and then he stared at Arya.

"What has happened, Highness?" he said smoothly. Arya faced him, her face as bland as his tone.

"The egg has hatched, Lord Evadarr. A new Rider has been chosen," Eragon said quickly. Evadarr's face became blank – so emotionless that it was almost frightening.

"And," he said through his teeth, "for whom?"

"For me, Uncle." Arya said evenly. The Lords and Ladies gasped as one and Evadarr blinked twice in quick succession. Eragon could not suppress the impression that Arya was enjoying this more than was proper.

"_What?_!"Evadarr hissed through clenched teeth.

"The green egg has hatched, Uncle," Arya repeated. "To me, during the night."

Mira, her eyes aglow, said brightly, "How old is he, Princess?"

"Merely a few hours," Arya replied.

"_Where_ is he, Princess?" said another. Arya opened her mouth to reply, but at that moment, Saphira, who had been listening to them talking through Eragon, burst through the doors. Eragon looked anxiously for the hatchling; he was, he saw with great relief, sitting comfortably on her saddle.

Everyone in the room – even Evadarr – craned their necks to see him, all of them tense and stiff. The dragon, when he saw Arya, fluttered clumsily from Saphira's saddle and hopped awkwardly over to Arya. She stared at him for a moment, then picked him up; as she straightened, the hatchling in her arms, she met her Uncle's eyes.

"But ... but this impossible! _She _– " Eragon scowled; to call a woman 'she' while in her presence was incredibly rude and disrespectful " – is the heir to the elven throne! And we _cannot _have a Rider as a sovereign! It is ... it is ..." Evadarr trailed off angrily. But Eragon was equal to that.

"Arya may not yet have to rule – are you saying that Queen Islanzadi is not capable of her duty?" Evadarr scowled. "And," Eragon continued heatedly, "even if this was true, what do you propose to do now, Evadarr? Kill the dragon? That would likely kill Arya, or wound her for life; certainly it would destroy our hope of _ever_ defeating Galbatorix. There is no point in talk like this."

Evadarr's fists were clenching and unclenching at his side. "Rider, these are matters that you do not know of! These are between elves and their kind ... not ..."

"Not humans, you mean?" Eragon said coldly. "But we are not humans. We are the Leaders of the Riders, Evadarr, and we have as much to be here as does Princess Arya herself."

A Lord nodded in approval. "What _shall _happen now, Argetlam? What of training?"

Eragon and Arya's eyes met; the hatchling stared solemnly. "Saphira and I will train Arya and her dragon accordingly. Arya, of course, needs no instruction in swordsmanship," he nodded briefly to her, "but there are secrets of the Riders that both dragon and Rider must know. That and other things we will teach."

Eragon saw that Arya was holding the hatchling tight; she gave a him a quick, confused look that he did not understand then turned back to her Uncle. "There we are, then, Uncle. Eragon will train me ... _us_."

"I am pleased for you, Arya," Lady Mira said warmly. "When will the training begin?"

"The hatchling cannot yet communicate with words – until then we cannot do the more important things ... but we will not be idle, I assure you, Lady Mira."

Evadarr hadn't finished. "But ... a _Rider!_ It _cannot_ be!"

"Father," Niduen said softly. "But what can we do? The young one has hatched. We cannot change that."

Evadarr frowned at his daughter. "It is _not _right. Do you forget you heritage, child?"

Niduen stood up with a rush. "My ancestors would be proud that one so worthy as Arya has become the last Rider in Alagaesia. They would be ashamed to see one of the royal family so willingly forgetting all logic. Especially when once he was the greatest man in all of Alagaesia, to me." Niduen bent down, picked up her sewing in one swift movement, and swept from the room. A tear glistened on her cheek.

Out of the corner of his eye, Eragon saw Arya frown as she watched Niduen disappear. Evadarr swung around to see her closing a veil-door behind her. His lips moved in what Eragon would have guessed to be a curse; then he also turned abruptly and went after his daughter. He sent a venomous look backwards, however, at Eragon and Arya; then he was gone, leaving a dead silence behind him.

"If the Queen were here, he would be just the same, Princess," said a black-haired Lord comfortingly. "Do not think on it, Highness."

"Of course not, Fraerwyn," Arya replied politely. "It does not weigh heavily on my mind." But she looked unsettled; Evadarr was influential, in his way. People respected him for being their beloved Evandar's brother, and, so it was said, he had been an excellent tactician in wartime.

"Princess; Argetlam, Brightscales; will you go to your houses now? You must be tired after your journeying."

"I believe so, Mira. Good day." Arya nodded courteously; the hatchling squirmed in her arms. Eragon nodded as well, and they left together.

"Evadarr is a mess," Arya said suddenly. "He was a master tactician, a clever teacher, a good father to Niduen as well." Eragon eyed her, unsure of her meaning. "The deaths of his mate and brother have changed him. He is brooding and grumpy. Niduen is upset, Eragon; she tells me that he is not the father she once knew."

"I'm sorry." Eragon thought of Niduen, sitting alone in the Throne Room. "She must be lonely."

"I don't think so. She and I spend much time together, and she gets on well with Bellaen. But yes, it is upsetting for her."

The dragon, now on the floor, was chasing a thrush; it darted off into the trees, and the hatchling bounded after it. Arya smiled; she lunged after the dragon, grabbing him with some difficulty and picking him up again. "When – " she asked as she stroked her dragon's head " – will we start training?"

"I don't know." Eragon sighed. "Soon – we must train as fast as is possible, faster, even, than Saphira and I did. But he is too small to learn to ride or to have mock-battle with. And he will not breath fire for months."

"I see." Arya's face was perfectly blank. "It is up to you and Saphira. If you will teach me, then you are my masters."

Eragon jumped. "No, I am not. I have only just finished my training myself, Arya; how can I have you call me master in good conscience?"

"Still, you will teach ... us."

"Yes ... but I think we will stay with the names we already call each other," Eragon said with a smile. After a moment, Arya smiled back too.

"Of course. Goodnight, Eragon. Saphira," she said, bowing to her.

_Goodnight, Arya. Sleep well. _

Arya, releasing the hatchling but bidding it to follow her, turned and went. The cold wind blew her air across her face.

--

_The egg could not have hatched for a better person, _Saphira said exultantly. _Arya will do well. _

_She will, _Eragon agreed. _It will be good when the hatchling can talk, though. _

Saphira snorted. _It will be. I ... _she trailed of. Eragon could sense her excitement. He smiled as he got into bed.

_A name. He will have to have name as well. I wonder how he will choose it? _

_Well ... Arya knows a lot more about the Ancient Language than you did when I hatched. Perhaps he will here a word spoken in the city that he likes. We cannot know._

_Evadarr thinks the dragon is just a problem. I think ... I think that it may be difficult, sometimes, but that it is wonderful. There will be a new Rider, more chance against Galbatorix ... and you ...you will not be alone any more_, he finished softly. Saphira, half-asleep in her bed, opened one eye.

_**Neither** of us shall be alone ... that is very important._

_I know it is, Saphira. Sleep well. _

_Goodnight, little one. _

_I love you, _he said quietly. She gave no answer; but as she closed her eyes, she hummed contentedly.

--

Short, but the next should be up really, really soon. I mean it!


	34. Advice

Told you it was weird! Short, yes, but important.

Chapter Thirty-Four.

Advice.

_Eragon was high up, somewhere above the Crags of Tel'naeir. A wind blew and he was pushed further towards his master's hut. Good. Eragon didn't know why, but he had to get to the Crags quickly. _

_As he pushed himself further and further to the ground so that he was close to vertical, he realised that someone was standing – no, sitting – on the edge of the cliff, his chin in his hand. This person wore dark, travel-stained clothes and his chin was unshaven. Eragon stared at this man interestedly. Who was he? Why was he here? Where was his master – where was Oromis?_

_The man stirred, sitting up straighter; then to Eragon's surprise, he looked up and right at Eragon. Their eyes met, even as Eragon's memory was jogged, making him half-remember something ... _

_The man opened his mouth and spoke. "I remember the first time I met Arya. My Saphira had just been killed, you know, and I was half-mad. When I was brought before Islanzadi, the new widow-Queen, I saw her. _

"_She was only seven years of age, though bright and determined. She was subdued in the light of her mother's obvious grief at Evandar's death, but when she looked at me she smiled." The man smiled too, enjoying this memory. Eragon, though still bothered with the old memory, was interested. He waited for the man to continue. _

"_The next time I came to Ellesmera, I was already starting to recruit those who would want to fight against Galbatorix. I came to tell the Queen my plan and to ask for her help. Arya was close to thirty summers by then, and I soon found that she was burning to help fight the Empire. When she learnt my plan, she was determined. After that, no one, not even her mother, could stop her. _

"_It took years to establish the Varden – but after I did so, I was free to do what I liked. I chose to hunt Morzan, and in doing do, I met your mother." Eragon frowned. Who was that ...? _

"_And after Jeod and I – " Eragon frowned; didn't he know that name, too? " – stole the egg, Arya became not only the ambassador but the courier too." The man looked right at him. "Arya will be an excellent Rider, my son – you know she will. Her dragon will be strong and fierce, but proud and wise._

"_Still," the man continued, leaning back with a sigh, "there are many things that they must learn that you cannot teach them. Arya has spent so long hiding her feelings, letting no one into her confidence, that she will find it hard to start to share her mind with her dragon. You must help her there."_

_Eragon frowned. How was he to do what this mam said ... and who was he supposed to help? But he found that he could remember every word the man had said. _

"_And your Saphira and the dragon hatchling; they will become close, unsurprisingly as the only two sane beings of their race. Also, the only sane **male and female. **Do not hound Saphira on her choices concerning the hatchling – it is unfair. _

"_She must try to manage in her own way. Of course, you both are closer than any other Riders I have ever known – when she needs your help or company, you will be there for her. But only she can manage the feelings she may develop for the green dragon."_

_Eragon felt mild indignation: Saphira was his – at least, he thought she was – and he knew her better than any stranger, he felt sure. _

"_Train her well, Eragon. I know you love her, son, and don't forget what she means to you," the man said. "Perhaps she does not love you back. Perhaps, but do not let that ruin your friendship. And," he said sternly, "I know that by the end of her training, you both will be as close as two Riders can be – not romantically, but you will trust each other so deeply that it will be astonishing to your allies and terrifying to your enemies."_

The man lifted a hand, smiling. "Go well, my son. I am proud." He turned round and took no more notice of Eragon, who saw, with a jolt of subdued horror, that the man was fading away. But he couldn't go! Eragon didn't know his name! He had to know – it was deadly important – it would make all the difference!

_With one big burst of breath, the name to came to him. "BROM!" he cried. The man, nearly gone now, waved one last time. _

"_BROM!! Brom! NO! Come back! Please ... ! Please ..." _

Eragon woke, shaken and panting, his father's face fresh in his memory. And in his mind's eye, he could still see and remember every bit of that conversation.

--


	35. The Hatchling

First of all, an incredible amount of thanks to The Tealeaf Master for some incredibly insightful and helpful advice on a subject that I can't divulge right now. Thanks so much, Brian!!!

And second thanks go to all the reviewers! Thank you all so much for taking the time to submit them.

See, a long chapter at last. I can still do them! Lol. Enjoy!

Chapter Thirty-Five.

The Hatchling.

The house, light and airy, was filled with the song of morning birds and cold sunlight dappled on the floor through the green-tinged windows of leaves; but the occupant of this room was fast asleep – both of them, in fact.

Arya's head lay peacefully on her voluminous pillows and her arm was brought up by her face; and lying against her side, his small scaled head on her belly, lay her hatchling. They were oblivious to the world around them, for the moment.

--

Eragon rolled onto his back, blinking rapidly. The sounds of Ellesmera, birds and animals, were rampant, but he was deaf to their music; he was sweating. _Was it really Brom ...? _he wondered, thinking of the travel-stained clothes and untrimmed stubble his dream-father had had. Certainly, he was wearing the very clothes he had been buried in.

_Saphira? _But she out hunting. He got up slowly. Brom, poor, poor Brom, was in the vault of Souls; all those people had given energy to him – Brom, too ... what if, perhaps, they had transferred more than he'd realised? Enough to be able to talk to his unconscious self? Perhaps.

There was a muffled bang from somewhere. Eragon ran to the window and glanced down; nothing. _Saphira, what –? _

_Open the trap-door! _She screeched, appearing from nowhere on the windowsill. He leapt into action and threw the door open. Onto the landing, small and ungainly, fluttered the green hatchling.

Eragon stared. The hatchling was less overcome, and began to examine all the various dark and hidden places, such as under the table and beneath Saphira's bed, quite uncaring that Eragon was staring as if he had never seen him before.

"What are you doing?" Eragon asked finally, crouching down and extending his hand to the dragon's nose. It stared at him, large eyes thoughtful. Eventually, and after obviously a good deal of thought, he butted his hard nose into Eragon's hand; he slowly and gently began to stroke the nose.

"It is good to meet you at last." Eragon said courteously. The hatchling, though he didn't understand these words, could sense their meaning. He made a high squeaking in his chest, just as Saphira had, once.

"What are you doing here?" Eragon asked, but the hatchling was gone. He flew rather clumsily up onto Saphira's bed and began to sniff at the blankets. Saphira pushed her head through the portal and loomed over him. The hatchling turned, lowering himself down onto the rugs like a cat about to spring. A faint growl came from his chest. Saphira surveyed him closely.

Finally, Eragon saw a difference; the hatchling stood up and arched his neck, much as Saphira had once done under Glaedr's inspection. Then Saphira, with a snort, lowered her head and nudged his side gently. And then, to Eragon's astonishment, he leapt up, lunged at Saphira, and hit her hard in the stomach.

Saphira hummed with amusement. She lifted a claw and flicked him away casually – but her tail twitched, showing that she was not ignoring him. The dragon, bright-eyed, sat on the edge of the bowl of her bed, his tail thrashing from side to side. He looked quite at home. Saphira, back in her bed, watched him.

_What is he doing here, Saphira? _Eragon asked tentatively. He had been shown and presented to the elven nation and all the elves were happy and bright – they would have let him go unimpeded to wherever he happened to be.

_I saw him coming along our path as I returned from hunting; I shouted to you and by that time he was halfway up the tree, but I do not know why he is here._

_Perhaps he came to see you._

Saphira snorted. _I will ask him, then. _She looked at the hatchling, asking with impressions of words, so that he could understand. All of a sudden, she gave a great growl; when Eragon leapt to his feet, he could see she was laughing.

_What is it?_

_He is hungry! Arya, apparently, was still asleep, and so he came to find me for food again._

Eragon laughed, touching the hatchling on the head; he d not pull away or snarl. _We must take him back to Arya, or she will worry._

_All right, fine. I'll get some rabbits on the way, though. _

_Of course. _The little dragon, despite his sudden friendliness, would not let Eragon pick him up and so he tumbled around at Eragon's heels as they made their way down the tree; he could have flown down with Saphira, but Eragon didn't think it was best for him to fly that height just yet.

Ellesmera was quiet, the morning being still early, and they met no one. Which was just as well, as the dragon was very bouncy, leaping after leaves, jumping on insects and was also very often sending bright glances at Saphira. And when she gave him a rabbit, carefully ripped up, he insisted on butting one half to her and devouring the rest for himself. Eragon could feel Saphira's thoughts leaping at his actions.

Arya's house, when he knocked on the door, was in complete silence. No worried muttering or frantic searching. Perhaps, he thought with trepidation, she was still in bed. He felt uncomfortable at that. But the door did open, eventually, and Arya stood in the doorway.

"Eragon!" Her hair was tumbled and over her back and her eyes were wide. "It – " She broke off as her dragon emerged from behind Saphira's leg. He stopped dead, staring at her. Then , with the constant energy he seemed to have, he charged forward. Arya, fast as ever, crouched down and he leapt into her arms. As she straightened, holding him tight, Eragon saw, with a pang of anguish and astonishment, that her eyes were overly bright.

"Are you all right?" he asked anxiously. "What happened?"

She stared. "You can tell more than I. I have only just woken." She stepped back in an automatic gesture for him to go inside. After a moments hesitation, he did so. Her bed was rumpled and her pillow certainly not in it's normal place. Arya came in and sat on the padded leather seat that ran along the wall. Her dragon sat beside her, happy to be back.

"What happened?" Eragon asked again. Arya looked away briefly.

"I do not know. Both of us were fast asleep, so far as I know, but when I woke this morning he was not here. And how did he come to be with you?"

Eragon could see the little dragon scrambling into the tree-house in his minds eye. "I had just woken up, when I heard a loud bang. Then Saphira shouted for me to open the trap-door and when I did, this one was there. As it turned out, he was hungry."

"Hungry?" Arya repeated blankly. "That explains it. So he came to Saphira and you for food?" She said tonelessly.

"Yes ... but to Saphira, really. It was only after a careful examination that he let me touch him." Arya looked, though she hid it well, miserable at the thought of her own dragon going to someone else for food. "He nearly dragged us back home to you," he said with a smile. Arya looked better.

"That's good to know." She opened a cupboard full of earthenware jars. "Do you want some tea? Bellaen was kind enough to give me some blackberry yesterday."

"Yes, thank-you, it's very kind."

Arya nodded absently. "I have tea every morning. Bellaen knows and he always makes a point of asking me of what I want."

Eragon felt a very prominent twinge of jealousy. "Bellaen ...?" he ventured cautiously. Arya, filling her kettle, said:

"He is in charge of all the important houses. He is ..." she sat down by Eragon to wait for the water to come to the boil. "He is ... how do the humans say? 'Sweet' on my cousin."

"Niduen?" he must have sounded to surprised, because turned to face him directly. He noticed dully that they were very close.

"Yes, Niduen. My cousin," she told his slowly, as if talking to a simpleton. "I believe she likes him very much as well."

"Ah. I am glad for her." Eragon said with great relief. Good as he was at hiding is feelings, Arya becoming so close to another would be hard for him to ignore effectively ...

"As am I," Arya replied, jumping up to take the kettle off the boil. She poured the tea into mugs, then took her place by him, once more. The sipped their tea in silence for while.

"When ..." Arya glanced at Eragon quickly. "When do we start our ... training?"

Eragon liked this tea; it was deep and fruity. Despite his earlier apprehensions on Bellaen, he did like his choices of tea. "Perhaps when he starts to speak. That may be a few weeks, until he picks up enough language to speak in words."

"But there are so many in Ellesmera – surely he will learn sooner?"

"You may be right – Saphira had only me to speak to and only saw Brom after Uncle Garrow died." Eragon felt and grip of sadness as he thought of Garrow – and, he realised guiltily, it had been months since he had.

"I hope he will soon," Arya said quietly, staring over her mug at the hatchling. He looked back with quite clear adoration in his eyes; when Arya turned back to Eragon, he could see that same expression mirrored in her own.

"Perhaps ..." he hesitated thinking on the dream-Brom's words. "Perhaps if he spent more time with Saphira, as another dragon, but also as a person, it will be ... good for him."

"You as well, I presume?" Her face showed no emotion.

"Yes – that is, if it is all right with you," Eragon said slowly. "And if you would not mind."

Arya put down her empty mug, a contemplative look on her face. "I would like that very much, Eragon."

"Then ... we will see you both at noon today by the Menoa tree?"

"Of course." Arya smiled with a far-off look in her eyes. "I look forward to it."

--

The hatchling had discovered trees. – He launched himself at them, fluttering to the nearest branch, and then laboriously ascending to higher boughs. Eragon and Arya, left on the ground, watched as both dragons traversed the tree, Saphira sitting solidly on a lower branch.

"He really does have unending energy," Eragon smiled, watching the little dragon flitting from broad branch to branch on the Menoa tree.

"Yes ..." Arya, too, lifted her gaze to her hatchling. "Was Saphira as energetic?"

"Oh ..." Eragon thought of those days. "I don't know, I'm afraid. I spent as much time with her as I possibly could, but she was a long way from our farm and when we did meet we would often just sort of ... sit and just ... be with each other."

"What ... what was it like? Before you left your village?" Arya asked, looking uncomfortable at asking such questions.

"Truthfully? I think the best time of my life. Saphira and I developed a very strong nearly straight away. At first I had been thinking of telling Garrow and Roran – who would have wanted to kill her. But after only a few hours I was too attached to her to even contemplate it."

Arya looked scandalised. "They would have killed her?"

"They might have ... they never had chance, though. Out first flight was as she took me away from where the Ra'zac were destroying our farm." His hands clenched on the root he was touching. "I was very angry with her for a while. I felt I could have saved him, had I been there."

Arya looked away. "I never knew. I hope ... I hope that my first flight will be under happier circumstances."

"So do I, Arya. I'm sure it will be. Nothing will happen in Ellesmera."

"No ..." she glanced up at her dragon. "He is supposed to be learning speech from us; how can he do it from up there?"

Eragon grinned. "I can safely say that Saphira is filling his mind with insightful thoughts. Lots of them."

"Oh," Arya said, and smiled back. "But he should still come down."

"Call him, then." Eragon watched as Arya's face became blank as she reached out for the hatchling. After a moment, he was tumbling, half flying and half climbing, down the tree's huge girth. He landed close to Arya and bounded into her arms. Eragon, his mental walls low, could feel his joy at being back with her.

So could Arya. "Hello, small one," she said softly. Eragon blinked; he had never heard Arya speak so tenderly.

The hatchling curled contentedly on her lap; but when Saphira landed by Eragon, he turned to face her; their faces both clouded over and Eragon could feel a myriad of odd words and images being exchanged. Arya could too, and she glanced at Eragon with a small smile on her lips.

"I cannot keep up with their conversation," she said. "How do they communicate?"

"I don't really know," Eragon said thoughtfully. "It is not anything I know about, as Saphira is the only young dragon I have ever known. She's just sort of fallen into a strange language halfway between words and images; perhaps it is what all dragons do."

Arya was silent for a moment. "Dragons are amazing creatures. I had always admired Oromis and Glaedr from the very time I met as a very young child. Glaedr was very good to me, and unendingly patient."

Eragon nodded. That was certainly Glaedr. "Did you ever meet the other Riders?"

Arya's mouth thinned; but, strangely, it seemed more angry than annoyed, as that particular facial expression tended to be on her. "Yes, I did. I met Vrael, once, and his dragon Itilara."

"Really?" Eragon asked, amazed. "What were they like?"

Arya smiled a little shamefacedly. "I was very, very small. I can barely remember them. But ... they were very ..." she paused, looking for words. "They both had great presence. Vrael was tall. That I remember perfectly. I saw him standing by my father and thought that he was the only one I had ever met who could rival my father for sheer ability in everything."

Eragon sighed. "I would so much like to have met them." Arya nodded solemnly.

"Itilara was purple." Arya looked down at her dragon's head where it rested on her thigh. "She was so beautiful. I had never seen anything like her before." She smiled. "As princess, however small, I was presented and introduced to every visitor that came – and Vrael and Itilara were the most honoured." Arya sighed. "I met so many important people that my diplomatic training began at about seven."

Eragon paused, thinking of this. "At seven, I still ran wild about the village with Roran and Albriech."

Arya stared. "How different your childhood was from mine. I ... I suppose that my own was very short."

Eragon looked at her seriously. "As was mine. Not, of course, that I immediately became wise and clever, but Aunt Marian died when I was ten and Roran thirteen. After that we bought the new farm and there was much work to do."

"Your mother's sister?"

"No – I was not related to her by blood – though I might as well have been. Garrow and my mother were siblings."

"Ah." Arya made a flutter of her hands. "And you know of my remaining family, of course."

Eragon smiled sadly. "You have a great deal more of them than I do."

"I ... yes, that's true. I'm sorry," she said, though Eragon was not sure what she was apologising for. "But they died well, I am told."

"Yes ..." Eragon thought of Aunt Marian's death. He fought a lump in his throat. "Their deaths crushed my Uncle."

Arya began to ask after this last statement, then decided against it. "As did my father's death," she murmured. "Evadarr and my mother will never be the same again."

Eragon leant his head against the trunk of the Menoa tree, but turned to look at Arya. "What about you?" he asked gently.

Arya stared at him, going rigid. Eragon saw her swallow and her eyes were bright; but she said nothing. She did not seem capable of it. They spent an indeterminate amount of time just sitting, frozen. Then Arya sprang to her feet, her dragon falling to the ground. "I must go. Good day and thank-you for your kindness ... kindnesses." She walked swiftly and gracefully, though hurriedly, away from the Menoa tree, leaving Eragon and Saphira alone.

Saphira rustled her wings. _Poor child. _

_She's not a child, _Eragon said absently, staring after her.

_She may as well be one, _Saphira said quietly. _When you were small the was always someone there for you – you had family. I do not think Arya had that luxury. _

Eragon was now fully listening to her. _She had her mother. _

Saphira snorted. _Queen Islanzadi is a good queen, and I am sure she was a good mother, too – but not, perhaps, in the way that Arya needed. _

_How do you know all this? _

_I am not blind, Eragon. And more intuitive to ... emotions. _

Eragon felt mildly indignant, but was not about to pursue the subject. _But Arya ... _he struggled with words to say what he felt. _Arya is ... _

_Arya is always composed, always stern and capable – I know. But no one is insusceptible to emotions, even the elves – Arya none the least. And, _Saphira said sternly, _she is not always in control, as you have seen. _

_Poor Arya, _he said hollowly, echoing her earlier words. _But what can I do .. to help? I ... you know her feelings ..._

Saphira's tail slapped a root with enough power to break bones. _Surely you have not been so blind as to see the way you and Arya behave together?_

_What do you – _

_You are so close, in a strange way, that she talks **only **to you! I would say that it is quite likely that Arya has never revealed so much to **anyone** before today._

_What? _Eragon felt only the deepest surprise.

_Just ... just continue being **you, **Eragon. I think that will be the most help. _

_You ... I still don't understand, Saphira._

_Of course not. I don't either, but we must do what we can with what we do understand. We have some students now, too, little one. _She licked him affectionately.

_Do you think Brom was right? _

_About what?_

_About Arya, and all those things he said in the dream._ He had, of course, told Saphira immediately of his dream, for lack of a better word.

_Undoubtedly. When has Brom ever been wrong? _

It was a rhetorical question, and Eragon did not answer it. _Arya is very ... proud. Surely she won't like to be taught by us? Well, me. I am much younger. _

_True, little one, but Arya is also practical. She will realise the necessity in her training well and will work hard, I think, after a while, despite her pride. And also ... why should it be such a blow to her pride to be taught by us? _

_I found it a blow to my pride to be beaten my Brom at sparring every night._

_That, _Saphira said with a chuckle, _is because it **was** a blow to your pride. _

_Thank-you, _he replied acidly.

_Welcome. Brom, as always, was right – you will have to do more than train her in the arts of the Riders before she and the hatchling can be true Riders._

_I know, I know. But it's so hard to start! I cannot just walk up to her and tell her that we start training tomorrow – and the hatchling cannot even speak. That will have to come soon, as well._

_Yes, it will. As long as we stay with him – them – I am sure he will learn quicker. I can hear small parts of the ancient language and the common tongue starting to get through to him – by two of weeks or a month he may be speaking. Patience. _

_Yes, I know. _

_Meeting them both like this is good – it helps. _

_Helps who? _Eragon asked futilely. _And, besides, I doubt Arya will want to ever again; not if the same thing that happened today happens again._

_I am only guessing, Eragon, but I do not think Arya will say no – I think she was only shocked and did not know quite what to do._

Eragon sighed, still confused. _I hope you are right, Saphira. _

_As do I, little one. _

_--_

It was a long, grassy meadow, flanked by trees on either side, one of the only fields in Ellesmera. The wind ruffled the tops of the tall grass and they swayed in the breeze. Nothing disturbed the peace – the song of the blackbird in the hazel trees, the tinkle of the brook just hidden from view – but ...

There was a slight disturbance; an unusual ripple in the pattern of the grass; a green, scaled head broke the surface, then disappeared again, a bright green ivory-spiked tail waving over the grass.

Another dragon, large and shining blue, descended from the skies, a limp and very much dead furry thing hanging from her talons. She proceeded to rip it up, throw some to the green dragon, who had come gambolling over to her, and both of them lay down in the grass to enjoy the unfortunate animal.

A faint thread of voices was audible over the wind; two people, a dark-haired woman and tall man, were conversing in the shade of a tall chestnut tree, their low words reaching their dragons only occasionally. It was a happy scene, very peaceful and the aura gentle. Nothing disturbed them.

--

Niduen sat at her desk, a map of Alagaesia spread out on the carved surface. It was beautiful, intricately drawn, every name and tree, rock and mountain drawn in bright colours; even Nia and Sharktooth, the two small island's off Teirm, were blotted in carefully.

But there were mistakes: where Uru'Baen should have been was a golden citadel, almost lifelike. And a label, written in fine calligraphy, read, quite simply, 'Illirea'. And where the valley between Carvahall and Therinsford was, a towering steeple on a tall rock stood, once again labelled plainly, 'The Watch Tower."

Where Farthen Dur was, the sun glinting on the ton of the volcanic crater, a small sapphire was scribed. And beside it the words 'Farthen Dur'. Ellesmera was in amongst all the curling trees, a star making the start of the word. And below it was Ardwen Lake, Silthrim, the Isenstar, Nadindel; none were forgotten and all were done with the hand of one who truly loves and knows his work.

Niduen lifted the corner of the paper; a few word were written there, small and unassuming:

_Evarinya un Stenr, Edur un Adurna, _

_Dai las ith ma'ina _

_Casintra iet fy priodi._

_**Evadarr, of House Drottningu. **_

--

_Little one._ Saphira nudged Eragon forcefully with her nose. _Get **up!** _

_All right! _Eragon leapt out of bed. _What has happened?! _

_Nothing. But I think it is high time we flew together again. _Saphira replied, unperturbed. _And the sun had only risen this last hour. _

_Is it that early? Saphira! _

_Eragon, get up. _

Eragon sighed and began dressing. _It will be good to fly again. _

_Yes, which is why I woke you. Hurry up, _Saphira said briskly.

Eragon got the saddle that Brom had made so long ago in a bramble thicket outside Carvahall and threw it over her shoulders. He strapped the girth and martingale swiftly and climbed up. Saphira leapt out of the window and soared high into the air, the wind fresh under her wings.

_It is good to be in the air again together again, little one! _

_I know – it is. _The wind whipped his hair and whistled through his clothes, making him feel truly alive. _Where to? _

_Wherever we want. _Saphira rolled backwards abruptly and let out a brief stream of fire. _Hold on tight. _

The sun rose higher; but Saphira and Eragon were still high above the canopy, taking in pleasure in the height and the exhilaration and the pure adrenalin.

Eragon's thoughts, as Saphira steadily ascended even higher, turned to the hatchling, and in turn Arya. He was ten days old now rapidly growing. Arya, Saphira, the dragon, and he, had been spending so many hours together – talking, mainly, but he delighted in the few times that Arya laughed properly.

Eragon's thoughts were interrupted as Saphira pulled up short, flapping heavily to stay in one place. He peered over her head to see what had happened and drew in his breath.

The hatchling hovered before them, his own smaller wings beating rhythmically. The sun shone his scales and they shone like emerald fire; Eragon and Saphira stared. He had become so big! Where was the playful little thing from just a day ago? His eyes, large and as bright as his scales, were coolly calculating. Then he flicked his tail and manoeuvred a small loop so that he was beside Saphira and equal to Eragon. Eragon inclined his head cautiously.

"Good day."

The hatchling cautiously extended his mind to Eragon, who jumped. This dragon had music playing in his thoughts – deep, rich strumming feelings, much like Arya's. And as he returned the gesture, gently touching the small dragon's mind, it flashed him some images.

_Arya, beside a vine-wrapped tree, kneeling by a pool, deep in thought. _

_Eragon and Arya laughing in the shade of a tall chestnut tree and the pleasure it brought to him and Saphira. _

And just as abruptly as it had started, it stopped. The dragon stared at Eragon, willing him to understand.

_Arya glancing upward and seeing two dragons in the sky, one blue and one green – _

Eragon grinned. "Yes, we will come. Thank-you."

The hatchling bobbed his head, then dived back into the canopy and Saphira followed him straight after.

_He wants us to come and see Arya? _Saphira asked.

_Yes ... it took me a while to understand, though._

_He is advanced, though, isn't he? His thoughts are very educated, very precise. _

_He is learning fast. _

_Aye. _Saphira landed with a bump.

"Eragon!" Arya stood up from where she been kneeling by a small pool, her hand on her sword hilt. "What are you doing here?"

Eragon ran his gaze over the dragon, not showing his surprise. "We were flying," he said as an answer. Arya raised an eyebrow.

"I see. Well, will you join us?" Arya gesture to where she had been sitting.

"Of course." As he sat down, the hatchling eyed him, his tail flicking while Saphira watched interestedly.

"How are you out so early?" she asked, picking at the scales of a pine cone.

"Early?" Eragon glanced up at the sky; he had forgotten his abrupt awakening. "Oh, Saphira woke me up a half hour after dawn to go for a fly with her. Not, of course, that I mind," he added hurriedly.

_Of course you don't, little one, _Saphira said with a flick of her tongue. Arya smiled.

"I hope that soon we both will be flying together." Arya said wistfully, staring sightlessly at her own dragon.

"I am sure you will," Eragon said reassuringly. "He has grown so fast."

"Yes, I know. He has always slept on my bed since he hatched – but soon he will be too big." Arya laughed suddenly. "He is not pleased about it at all."

Eragon nodded with a smile, but a quick thought came to him. "Arya, what will happen when he becomes to big to come into your rooms? You would have to ..."

Arya stared at him, a sad look on her face. "He will have to sleep outside, like a misbehaving dog; I could not bear that."

"No." Arya could see that pain same in his own eyes. "Saphira and I have always been together and the times we have been separated have made us stronger still. Mind you," he said, "the times we were separated, one of us was almost always nearly killed. Still," he continued, "you and he must be able to be together."

Arya said nothing, wondering what he was going to say.

"Are there any other Riders' dwellings in Ellesmera?" he asked eventually with a slight frown. Arya thinned her lips as she thought.

"Yes, I suppose so. They were made for the apprentices, though, the Riders in training. They are quite ... small."

"Oh. Well, we shall have to work something out. It will not do for you both to be separated," said Eragon, his frown lessening. "Perhaps a very large room in Tialdari Hall?"

"Yes, I suppose so; but ..." Arya smiled, shaking her head briefly. "I am very... used to my rooms – I have had them since the age of thirty."

"Thirty ..." Eragon wondered aloud. "But where did you live before that?"

"Close to my parents – my mother's chambers," she corrected. "She would sing to me and tell me things ..." she sighed and stopped talking.

"Arya?" he said cautiously when she had been silent for a long moment. She jumped.

"I'm sorry; I was lost in my thoughts. As I was saying, after a while I started hungering after somewhere I could be alone. It took a considerable time, but when I took the Yawe, she banished me to my then current rooms anyway." She smiled absently. "For some reason I have become rather attached to them. No matter."

"We'll find something," he promised. "How are you?" It was somewhat of a useless question, as he had seen them both only yesterday.

"Oh ... Well, thank-you. I have been thinking of the Varden, though. Won't they need you back soon?"

Eragon folded his arms. "I think they would like to us to go back, yes – but to stay here and start your training is more important."

"If the Varden fails, so does any likely hope of defeating him," Arya said warningly.

"True, but I do not think it will. And also ... the final battle is inevitable now. The Varden can hold it's own until we are _both _ready to fight."

"The Final Battle." Arya snorted. "Forgive me, I seem to be inheriting my Uncle's pessimism."

"What do you mean?"

Arya folded her arms as well. "When I think of it, I find it hard to imagine how we can win."

Eragon nodded gravely. "But you are reckoning without you and your dragon. You will both make a significant difference to the war."

"Oh, we know," Arya said quietly and Eragon was pleased to hear her say 'we'. "How awful it must have been to be in those last terrible moments before Vrael was killed, though, far worse than our battle will be. I can not imagine how it must have been."

"No. Dragon killing dragon, Rider killing Rider." Eragon met Arya's eyes and they both shared a moment of understanding of the horror that such things would leave in them.

"He ... Oh, he has made so many enemies over the years that surely he did not think that they would rise up against him?!" Arya started to say something else fierce, but stopped herself quickly.

"Morzan too. Brom spent so long hunting him down, looking for vengeance ..." Eragon trailed off. "Well, in that way he met my mother, so I cannot be wholly ungrateful."

"I did not know that Brom knew your mother."

"My mother, Selena, met him in Teirm after he had killed Morzan." Eragon hesitated, wondering how much he should tell her; but Arya had mistaken his silence for the end of his sentence and was not expecting any more words.

"Selena. That's a beautiful name," she said solemnly.

"My family were known for having names that were not quite normal. We were always somewhat different. My grandfather was named Cadoc – and Garrow and Selena were certainly not usual for a small village. When Roran and I were named, that just confirmed most people's belief that were a little bit strange." Eragon laughed. "And Garrow could read, though he never told us!"

Arya looked at him strangely. "He never told you he could read? But ... didn't you see him reading?"

"No, never. It was Brom that told me he could. Garrow did teach us sums and numbers, though – so that 'no damn fool could swindle us out of our money'." Eragon grinned in reminiscence.

"Ah." Arya smiled too. "I can remember being taught my numbers; I took to it very quickly, but teachers despaired of me ever becoming very adept at it."

Eragon thought of his own lessons. "Brom taught me my letters in Teirm because we needed to break into the record rooms. He was not very patient, but I learned quickly enough."

"No, patience was never one of Brom's main points." Arya was about to say something else, but her dragon, who had been quiet up until then, stirred and yawned. He looked at Arya and Eragon could see a limited amount of communication between them.

"I'm sorry, Eragon, I have to go. My cousin as just arrived at my house, looking for me," she said apologetically. "Excuse us."

"Of course." They both stood up.

"Shall we come here again tomorrow?" Arya asked blandly. Eragon's face relaxed into a grin.

"That would be good."

Arya nodded and dragon and Rider began to walk back to Tialdari Hall, Arya the same height as his withers. The sun had risen to nearly the top of the sky, showing how the time had passed into midday.

--

Arya sat on her bed, the windows closed against the chilly wind that threatened to blow the whole tree over. Her dragon, so large that it was impossible for him to sleep on the bed without breaking it, curled on the floor.

Arya smiled at him. _Sleep well, _she said as a matter of routine – she did it every night. The hatchling snorted and smoke curled from his nostrils. A comb in her hand, Arya began to pull it through her hair.

_Niduen was not herself today, was she? If Evadarr has upset her, or even Bellaen ..._Arya remembered belatedly that she was a princess. _You could do it instead. _

She looked over at him. His eyes sparkled with humour, knowing she was jesting.

_Have you eaten? _He sent a gently affirmative thought. _It is good that you can hunt for yourself now. _He sent her an indignant feeling at her doubt in his hunting skills.

Arya put down the comb and climbed into bed, shuttering the lamp.

_Did you speak with Saphira today? _Eragon and she had decided that the best education would be for Arya to speak in the Ancient Language to him and Saphira and he the common tongue.

The hatchling gave a satisfied grunt meaning yes.

_Good. _Arya stared at him and he stared back solemnly. _Goodnight. _

He lifted his head and said gravely with a hint of something else in his voice, _Goodnight Arya._

Arya shot bolt upright in bed and her hand flew to her mouth in shock and horror, muffling a yelp of fright.

And, he said again with some satisfaction:

_Arya. _

_--_

_Evarinya un Stenr, Edur un Adurna, Dai las ith ma'ina Casintra iet fy priodi. _Means "Stars and stones, hills and water, all lay before me, captured on my parchment." Evadarr's sign.


	36. A Name

Oww...I have a frog the size of an elephant in my throat ... I nearly couldn't finish this, but my very helpful sister typed it while I dictated. It was exasperating but hey! The chapter is up!

**Thanks so much for all the reviews!!**

Chapter Thirty-Six.

A Name.

Arya and her dragon stared at each other.

_Arya? _he said blankly. She, with a shaking hand, pushed her bedclothes down.

_Yes. _

_We speak now? _

Arya squeaked in an undignified way. How much did he know? She had been waiting a long time for him to be able to speak, but now he was could really do it, it was unnerving. What should she do? But he was still staring at her.

_Yes. We speak. _

_Good, _he said, sounding immensely satisfied. Arya bit her lip so tightly that the blood came. What could she do? She didn't know ...

Eragon. She would call Eragon. He would know what to do. She was on the point of lowering her mental barriers and reaching out to him when she stopped. What would he think of her, coming running to him when a joyous thing as this happened? He would loose his respect for her, like she was one of the helpless females of his race.

No, she would not call him.

But he would want to know ... no, there would be plenty of time in the morning. Still, she lowered her mental wards and began to reach out to him. But before she could speak to him, another mind, strong and agile, intercepted the probe. Arya gasped as her dragon caught her thought and touched her mind directly.

--

Eragon sat up, quickly, holding his hand to his head where a sharp little pain had just stabbed him.

_Saphira, did you feel that? _

_Yes ... who was it?_

Eragon rubbed his head. _I think ... _he paused, then he slowly recognised the feeling of that particular mind. _I think it was Arya! _

_Are you sure? _Saphira flicked her tongue interestedly.

_No ... not completely. But what if she's in trouble? _He promptly began throwing off the bed covers and grabbing his clothes.

_She would have told you – what **happened? **_

_She only touched my mind briefly – I only just noticed. _He shoved on his boots.

_Nothing will have happened to her, not here in Ellesmera, _Saphira said calmly. Nonetheless, she did not complain when Eragon vaulted onto her back without waiting to throw on the saddle.

The night was cool, and it raised goosebumps on his skin through the lining of his linen shirt. As soon as Tialdari Hall was in sight, he leapt off. _Will you come? _

_I will wait until you know what is wrong. Hurry, then. _She nudged him forward and he took off through the now familiar passages to Arya's house.

--

"Arya?" a quiet voice said audibly though the screen door. Arya froze. Had he come? Had he realised it was her? No ...

"Arya?" came through the door, louder this time. "Are you there?"

She opened her mouth, but it was dry. She glanced at her dragon, who was calmly regarding the door, then said loudly, "Yes, come in."

The screen was opened and Eragon stood in the doorway, flushed with the night air, his hand on his blue sword. "Are you all right? Why did you call?"

"He ... I am sorry, I did not mean to. He talked to me and I didn't know what to do." The dragon became very much alert at this statement and sat up, making the whole house rock. Eragon's hand left his sword, but his face tightened.

He bordered on saying something, but in the end said only, "May I come in?" He was still standing in the doorway.

"Yes – of course." Only then she realised how foolish she must look with the covers about her waist. Eragon walked into the room, not looking very comfortable.

"Are you sure? I mean ..." he really looked uncomfortable now. "Would you prefer to ... dress, first?"

Arya was about to wave away this statement, but then remembered, belatedly, how she was in her nightclothes. But she could feel her dragon pressing in her mind with what might have been impatient. She shook her head.

"No. I ... would like yours and Saphira's help, though. I do not know what to do," Arya said, lifting her head high. Eragon nodded and approached her and her now standing dragon with caution. He looked ridiculously tall from her bed.

"What have you spoken of?"

"Little. He said my name and asked if we could speak now. I said yes ... but little since then. I have not been ... I was rather shocked," she amended. Eragon nodded again, looking pleased.

"The first thing Saphira said to me was my name." He winced. "I was rather rude, but there we are. Perhaps ..." he paused. "I'm sorry, Arya, but I am no expert. I have never met another dragon to talk to and never thought I would. I have never taught anyone ... I don't think I have any exceptional advice to help."

Arya frowned. "You are Shurtugal. You have done many things. I am confident that there is some help or advice you can give."

Eragon smiled grimly. "I am touched by your faith in me. I will do all I can, of course." He looked at the green dragon – who could not be called a hatchling any more, as he nearly filled her bedroom – speculatively. "May I have your permission to speak with him?"

"Certainly."

Eragon gazed at the dragon, then carefully reached out to touch his mind.

_Greetings. _

The dragon stared. He did not really reply in words but nodded his head.

_How are you? _He asked for lack of anything better. This time the dragon did speak.

_Good._

Eragon found his voice enchanting: it was deep, with, of course a slightly lighter part which showed his youth, and the music that played in his mind was much like Arya's.

_I am glad. Do you not want to speak with your Rider?_

_Arya? _The young dragon paused. _She is ... not good? _

It was certainly a question, asking he, Eragon, why Arya was not speaking with him.

_Perhaps she is shocked that you can now speak to her._

_I feel it, _he said wisely. Eragon blinked.

_Speak and make her feel better, then? _He suggested tentatively. The dragon surveyed him with bright and intelligent eyes.

_Does Arya want? _

Eragon was awed by the feeling and sensitivity with which he regarded Arya._ Ask her, maybe?_

The dragon turned his gaze on Arya. Eragon did not listen to their speech, and concentrating on looking not at Arya but at anything else to give her such privacy as she needed. She was still in her nightclothes.

After a fairly lengthy period, Arya looked away from her dragon and expression came back to her face.

"Are you all right?" he asked again. She smiled weakly.

"Yes. I understand more now – I was unsure of what to do and he thought that perhaps I did not want to talk to him."

"Better now, though?" Eragon asked tentatively, staring at her intently. She averted her gaze briefly.

"I was foolish; I should not have shied away from him. I ..." she sighed. "I was too surprised to think logically."

"It was a natural thing to do."

Arya stared at him. She didn't look like she believed him. "It _was _foolish. But yes, I think things are more sorted now." She looked at her dragon and smiled. "Yes, better."

"Good," he said fervently. "It would have been too awful ..." he trailed. "I cannot help but worry about my own inadequacy in this. I would never forgive myself if I could not help properly, or made a mistake." He suppressed a shudder; Arya frowned.

"Do not worry so much, Eragon. You have done very well so far, it seems to me."

"Perhaps – but you are very kind."

"No. I tell the truth." Arya said somewhat curtly.

_No wrong you have done us, _the green dragon said suddenly, surprising both Eragon and Arya. Eragon could see her smile slightly as he referred to them as 'we'.

"Do not worry," she told him firmly. "No harm has come to us yet."

"No," Eragon smiled. "And for that, I am immensely grateful."

"Quite." Arya rubbed her arms as a large gust of wind shook the house. "Nasty weather," she said absently. "Is there anything more?"

"I ..." Eragon hesitated. "I may be mistaken, but a name is essential to how a dragon and Rider communicate."

"A name ...?" Arya repeated speculatively. "Is it not a little early?"

"I am sure he will decide."

Arya transferred her gaze to her dragon and said gently, W_ould you like to have name now?_

_Name? 'Arya' and 'Saphira'? _He asked with much interest.

_Yes, just like those names, only your own. I don't like having to say 'hatchling' all the time. _

He snorted. _I do not know names. _

_Eragon and I will show you a lot of them and you can choose one you approve of. _Arya could feel him digesting this sentence and making sense of the unfamiliar words.

_Yes. It is good. I will have a name. _

Arya felt an awful urge to laugh like a young elfling and turned to Eragon. "Yes, he wants a name!"

Eragon smiled caught up in her suddenly very apparent delight. "How many names do you know?"

"Names? I know many dragon name's from the old stories. But surely you know more?"

"No, I do not. I probably know far less than you," Eragon said. Arya was about to reply, when Saphira interrupted them.

_Why have you been blocking me?! I have been trying to talk to you for a long while!_

_I'm sorry, Saphira – _

_What has happened?!_

_The hatchling has begun to talk, _Eragon said hurriedly. _We ... he wants a name._

_And you did not think to include me?! _Saphira snorted. _You took your time!_

_I forgot, Saphira, I apologise. _

_Mmph. Be that as it may, you can now think of letting me into your conversations. What names have you been offering him? _

_None, yet. We were just about to. _

_Oh. carry on, then. _Eragon could feel Saphira settling down to enjoy the process. _Do you still remember all those names Brom gave you? _

_Yes, _Eragon replied with a laugh. _Especially the male ones. _

Saphira snorted yet again. _You should hurry up; we cannot wait forever, you know. _

_Of course._

Eragon turned his attention back to Arya. "You start first," he said with a quick bow. Arya smiled, then said promptly to the dragon:

_Smrgol? _

The dragon did not hesitate before sending back a 'no'. Arya glanced at Eragon and tried again.

_Gorbash? _

_No, _he said quickly. Arya said after a moment,

_Charizard?_

_No. _

_Eingana?_

_No._

_Falkor?_

_No._

_Galeru?_

_No. _

Arya paused, thinking.

_Griaule?_

_No._

_Swarthorn?_

_No._

Arya tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and said, _Domhaini? _The dragon sent back a firm dismissal.

_Fithern?_

_No._

_Wythnos?_

_No._

Arya frowned. "How do dragons choose their names?" she asked Eragon, thinking of Saphira's beautiful and well-fitting name. Eragon shrugged.

"They can sense it, I think. They know instinctively the name that suits them best – but to dragons, names are more important than they are to mortals. Their name defines them, helps them become themselves." He paused. "Saphira knew her name, in a way. She only needed me to voice it."

Arya stared at her as yet unnamed dragon. His jewel bright emerald eyes were sparkling; he was thoroughly enjoying this late-night ceremony. Arya drummed her fingers on the bedclothes, thinking.

_Hasufel?_

_No._

_Trithen?_

_No._

_Istiar?_

_No._

Arya sighed. _There are only so many names I can recite!_ Her dragon flicked his tail and rumbled in amusement.

_You will find one, Arya, _he said, forming the words carefully.

_All right ... how about Rhandr?_

_No._

_Mogahib?_

_No._

Eragon was still standing a respectable distance from her bedside. She turned to him in despair. "I know no more names," she said, frustrated. "You must think of some."

He shifted uncomfortably. "It should be you that names him, Arya."

"How can I name him when he has refused all those I know? You must help."

Eragon nodded, conceding to this point. "Brom told me many names in Carvahall." He reached out cautiously to touch the young dragon's mind.

_I know some that you may like, _he said, asking for permission to suggest them. The dragon sent back an affirmative.

_Jura, Hirador? Fundor? _The dragon sent back a no. Eragon tried again.

_Galzra? Briam? _

_No._

_Beroan? Roslarb? _Once again, the dragon refused the names. Eragon frowned; there was one more, certainly, that Brom had told him. What was it ... ?

_Valinor?_ He said eagerly. The dragon shook his head, and sent back a no. Eragon sagged in disappointment and looked down at Arya.

"Those are all I can remember at this moment," he told her. She nodded distractedly, and motioned to her bed.

"Sit down," she said absently. Startled, he took a moment to obey her command. "Did Valinor not have a son?" she said suddenly.

"Yes ... he did." Eragon felt the name coming back to him. "It was ... Eridor, was it not?"

"Yes!" Arya turned to her dragon.

_Are you Eridor? _

He said nothing. Then, after a long pause:

_Yes. I am Eridor. _

_--_

_Gosh, this was hard to write. I don't like it at all, but there we are. What d'you think? _


	37. For Honour

Ohh ... I can' t_ believe _foot&mouth is back. It just too terrible!! Argh, I nearly _cried_, for some reason, when I saw it on the news. And the village show had no sheep, no shearing contests, no prize bull ... And it's the government's fault!! And it's going to spread ...

Right: I have not answered any reviews for this chapter or the last; the reason being that, truly, life is absolutely terrible money-wise. We are really quite poor, and mum goes into hysterics and that so ... I've been working on this sproadically, with no time to answer reviews. However, **I value** **each and every one, **and I hope to do better with this chapter. Thanks for reading this, if you have.

::sighs:: dammit. Oh, well, here's the chapter! Hope you like it!

Chapter Thirty-Seven.

For Honour.

Arya sat in the wide space between two of the white spikes on her dragon's back, a hand on his cool scales as he knelt in the leafy clearing.

_Mistletoe, you see? It grows on trees and along the undergrowth, _she said, pulling a string of the vine down from the ancient oak tree above them. _Humans think it is evil, but the dwarves make a very strong poison with it. They mix it with the fungus Fricai Anglat, and it become a poison stronger even than ... than the Skilna Bragh. _Arya could not suppress a shudder at the thought of that liquid, Durza's favourite form of torture. Eridor felt it.

_What is ... Skilna Bragh? Why are you scared of it? _Arya glared, furious, not with Eridor, but at herself for giving away the memory she had managed to push away into the back of her mind.

_It is potent brew that is powerful enough to kill ten dwarfs in one dose. But I am not afraid of it._

_I felt you shudder at it's name. I felt fear._

Arya frowned. She did not want to tell anyone of those times, of the months spent alone, sick and weak, wishing for her mother, her dead father, worrying of the Varden and her people; and of the horrible weakness she had felt.

_I was poisoned by the Skilna Bragh, when I was imprisoned in Gil'ead, _she answered shortly.Eridor knew this tale, of her imprisonment, but he had not known this; he hissed in shock and his tail twitched. _Murtagh Morzansson rescued Eragon and I and we escaped to the Varden. _

_Were you hurt? _He asked urgently.

_There was no lasting harm done, _she replied curtly.

_I did not know,_ he said, asking for more of an explanation; but Arya threw up strong walls before that part of her mind, and she would not let him in. He ceased his attempts, out of respect for her privacy, but he was not happy. He snorted.

_Tell me about the mistletoe. _He said eventually, as Arya showed no sign of breaking the silence.

_All right, _she said, thawing out a little; it was hard to remain silent in his presence. _It has ... erotic tendencies ... _Arya's mouth thinned. _The scent, I mean. I have never tested it. Humans are susceptible to it, mostly. It has deep roots in their lore and legends._

Eridor listened attentively, enjoying her words again and their communication. _Why? _

Arya paused, picking at the black flowers. _I don't know. Humans have a lot of superstitions – I mean, different beliefs – and the reason behind them is not known to me. _She shrugged. _I have never been quite able to understand them. _

_Eragon is a human. _

_Yes, but he's a Rider, too. He is different from the other humans._

_I know that ... but doesn't he have ... superstitions? _He asked, saying the word carefully.

_He has never told me, _Arya said, thinking. _But I have never been interested in these things. _

_I ... would like to meet a human, if Eragon is not one. _He said, in his voice that was deepening as he grew older. Arya's eyes flew wide open.

_No! You mustn't say that to him, Eridor, _she said hurriedly. _It isn't that he's not human, he's a Rider, now, too – different from other humans. It would offend him, too, I should imagine. _She stifled a laugh, despite her horror.

_Why would he be offended? He told you himself that he was not all human any more. _

_Yes, I know, but – _she paused, eyes widening in shock. _How do you know he said that to me? That was in Farthen Dur, after the battle._

Eridor stared at her, puzzled. _The thoughts, they came over to me, through the connection, in the night. What is wrong? _

Arya stared, not happy. What if all her memories, her thoughts, her worries ... her loves ... spilled over to Eridor? Every little foolish thing she had ever thought, all her worst times and experiences ... No one had ever known so much about her before. But Eridor was still waiting for an answer. He turned his head on his long neck, jewel-bright eyes inquisitive.

_No ... nothing is wrong, _she assured him, though she didn't believe it herself. _You merely gave me a fright._

_Why? _He said uneasily.

_I ... it is strange to think of us sharing dreams, that is all._

_Don't you want us to? _

Arya didn't say anything for a long moment. _It doesn't matter. _

_If you say so. _Eridor didn't believe her. _Eragon lived in a village before Saphira hatched for him though, didn't he? _

_Oh – yes. _She blinked at his sudden change of subject. Clearly he was very interested in the humans. It was natural, she thought, having only known elves, and a limited number of them, as most had gone to war and Niduen had returned to Osilon for a brief time and had not yet met Eridor. _Carvahall, the only village in the Palancar Valley. _

_King Palancar, _Eridor said, startling Arya._ Saphira told me that tale. _

_I see. Palancar was a fool, it cannot be denied – proud, brave, a canny fighter and an inspirational leader, but a fool, nonetheless. He had a large enough kingdom; to challenge the elves was a dangerous and idiotic thing to do._ Arya knew this story, too, courtesy of Oromis.

_I know. His descendants still live there, it is said, unless they have died out by now. _

_Probably. _Arya said, considering. _It has been thousands of years since then – even if his descendants are alive, they wouldn't know about their ancestor._

_Yes. _Eridor paused. _If Eragon was in that village for so long, he would know all those beliefs that there are. We can ask him about the mistletoe. _

_Why are you so interested in the mistletoe? _She laughed. He grinned too.

_I just want to know more! There are only immortals living here. You lived with the Varden for years and years – surely you noticed much? _

_Yes ... but subtle things, things that you should be able to witness yourself one day. I did see, though, that they really do not get offended in the way that elves do, nor are they so careful. I have seen two men fighting bitterly in a tavern, then get up, pat each other on the back, and order drinks for both of them. Of course, _she added, _they also tend to be very much inebriated. _

Eridor snorted and smoke trailed from his nostrils. _I don't think Eragon would be offended, in that case. _

Arya tapped his sparkling scales with a smile on her face. _I don't think Eragon has been in any pub brawls, somehow._

_Pub? _

_Tavern ... like ... well ... _How was she going to explain without sounding like she was slandering mortals? _Humans and dwarves are very fond of things like beer and wine and ale – it's like very strong and easier to make faelnirv. _Eridor had made the acquaintance of faelnirv a few days ago, courtesy of a benevolent elf. _Humans have special places where they go drink it. Those in the empire call them taverns, but in the Varden they are more commonly known as pubs. It's a very strange custom. _

Eridor yawned and stood up; Arya gasped, clutching quickly at one of the ivory spines on his back; he had been lying down before and the swaying as he moved now unbalanced her. _You are getting big, _she commented, eyeing the bit of mistletoe that had fallen down to the forest floor and looked much decreased in size.

_Thank-you, _he said solemnly. He fluttered his wings, but had not the strength to lift himself up with Arya as well. _Won't it be good when we can fly with Eragon and Saphira? _

_It will be very good. _Arya climbed down and slid lightly onto the ground of soft leaf-mulch and twigs. Eridor, now taller than her at the withers, stretched down his neck and shoved her in the back affectionately.

_You look smaller, _he said mildly. Arya gaped.

_I am a century older than you! _

_No age can match a dragon's wisdom, _he said gravely; but his tail flicked in amusement.

_Especially not the wisdom of you and Saphira combined, it seems, _she blinked, walking around his front to sit on his front paw, off the damp ground.

_Exactly. You **are** very small, _he said again, sounding surprised. Arya smiled.

_I am not small for **my** kind – you are just much larger. _

_You are shorter than Eragon, though. _

Arya frowned. _It doesn't really matter that much, _she told him firmly.

_Yes, but Eragon is taller than most elves I have seen._

_He didn't use to be; he was just a little less than me, before the ... _she trailed off. _Before. He looked different, too, then._

_Different? How? _

_Oh – just in his face. He had a very sharp look when I first met him, like a hawk hunting. It grew more pronounced as he grew older. He looks much like an elf now, does he not? _

_Probably, _he replied. _But how can I tell? I have never met a human, let alone a dwarf to compare with._

Arya thought of Eragon, the boy Eragon that he used to be. _He looks like an elf ... but with mistakes ... stronger jaw, wider chest, larger muscles ... _

_Oh. _Eridor paused, his warm breath on her head.

_I would still like to know about the mistletoe, though._

_--_

Niduen sat by her window in her old house in Osilon, staring dreamily out of a arched window to the quiet dusky forest beyond. Her deep blue eyes were bright and starry, wide open as she looked at a white dove unseeingly. The dove hopped closer from one thin pine-branch to another before coming to a stop close to the dreaming elf. It hooted cautiously. Only then did Niduen notice it.

"Good morning, my friend, and where did you spring from?" she said with a smile on her lips. It cocked it's head suspiciously and proffered a small pink leg, to which an equally small scroll of lightest paper was tied. Niduen became sharp immediately.

"Bird, I will not harm you," she said, extending a gentle hand, "flap to my hand."

It hooted again, reassured by her words, and hopped onto her outstretched finger. Niduen produced a half-eaten seed cake and crumbled it on the windowsill for the little bird; as it started eating, she untied the scroll.

_Niduen,_

It said in tiny runes.

_There has been an event of which I think the elven nation should know _

As her eyes slid down the small letter, Niduen's high-boned face grew solemn, all traces of the happy daydream she had been having gone. Stuffing the note inside her shirt, she stood up, startling the eating dove. She picked it up, too, gently putting it's head between her middle fingers and holding back it's wings, then swept from her little house in a flurry of hair and cloth.

She came to a small pond, crystal clear, where mirrors hung on the branches. There was no other person around and she put the dove carefully in her pocket before turning to the largest one.

"_Dream-Speech. " _The mirror swirled a misty grey, then showed a neat, airy room that was empty but for one dark-haired elf. As though feeling the gaze of her cousin, Arya turned around.

"Niduen! What is wrong? Has something happened?" Arya picked the mirror in which her cousin's face was reflected and frowned down at her. "Can you hear me?"

Niduen nodded. She lifted up first the dove, then the scroll so that Arya could read the words. Just like her cousin's, Arya's face blanched as she read it.

"_Barzul!"_ she cursed, and her cousin raised her finely-drawn eyebrows. "I will call Tialdari Hall together, Eragon and Saphira, too." Niduen nodded again and was about to withdraw from the spell, when Arya aid suddenly, "Stop!" Niduen paused. "Niduen ... please, come back soon. There is news I must give, important news you should hear from only me."

Niduen's dark brows knitted together. _"Bad?"_ she mouthed to Arya. Arya shook her head.

"No, very good news, but ... whatever you do, don't listen to gossip! In fact, don't speak to anyone at all. Come back soon, please."

Niduen gave an exaggerated sigh but nodded again. She waved her hand, then ended the spell, as troubled as her cousin.

--

"This letter went to Niduen of Osilon by dove early this morning." Arya stood in front of her mother's throne, four-and-twenty elf lords and ladies, as well as Eragon and Saphira, before her. "It tells that eleven assassins infiltrated Gil'ead city, held, as you know, by our Imperial forces, and attempted to dispose of both Lord Dathedr and Queen Islanzadi." There were cries of outrage and shock and Eragon clutched one of Saphira's neck spikes tightly.

"They were unsuccessful in their attempts, but the wards around the keep have been badly depleted. The ward-Keeper's are at work, but it is possible a second infiltration will occur if the empire realises the Queen's weakness." Arya stared around, lips pursed. "Lady Niduen received the note and contacted me through the scrying mirrors immediately."

"Why not contact the Tialdari Hall mirrors?" Evadarr, his black brows drawn tight together and pointing inwards fiercely, glared at his niece. Arya gave him a level look.

"There was no guarantee that any one would be here to answer, Uncle. It was quicker, that was all."

Eragon raised his eyebrows, wondering why Arya was so conciliatory to her Uncle, who was certainly not pacified in any case.

"I must insist on a private mirror being installed in this room for the use of such messages," he said in what might have an aggressive tone.

Arya looked like she was biting back a sharp comment and her jaw twitched, but she evenly, "That would mean that someone must always be here to intercept messages that are very rare." She closed her mouth sharply. Evadarr crossed his arms.

"It is a valid suggestion!" he said, teeth grinding. "I do not think that – "

"Arya Drottningu is now princess Regent in place of her mother. She deserves and has won the respect that you would show Queen Islanzadi." Eragon said mildly, nothing indicating that the conversation was more than just a dispute about seating arrangements at a party. Evadarr glared daggers; Arya could tell he was annoyed at Eragon speaking up yet again for her.

"There cannot be a monarch bonded to a dragon. It against all that we stand for."

"_Ridiculous_!" Eragon said vehemently. "Arya and Eridor are not yet even past _Tuatha Du Orothrim, _how can you _possibly_ suggest anything of that sort? They have only been bonded for one moon-span!"

"People change when bonded, Rider, all know that!" Evadarr spat; but Eridor, hearing these raised voices, raised his wings high, and entered the room. He settled down by Saphira, watching Arya and Evadarr, looking like a cat stalking it's prey. His scales shone and Arya sent him a carefully concealed grateful look. Evadarr's lips contorted.

"You are saying that Princess Arya is turning into another Galbatorix?!" Eragon said venomously. "Evadarr, you know _nothing!_ You will never understand a dragon and Rider have with each other – the only reason Galbatorix became what he is is because his dragon was _killed. _It takes great strength to survive that sort of loss!" Arya saw Eragon's fist clenching and unclenching; Saphira's tongue was flicking and her tail swung from side to side angrily.

"Could it be, " Evadarr said, eyes popping, in a voice of deadly calm, "that you are defending his actions? That you are praising his evil designs?"

Eragon snarled; he faced Evadarr; the Lords and Ladies had moved back to accommodate them. "You know not about what you speak. My _fa –_ Brom of Kuasta, the greatest man I ever knew, was torn apart in the final battle when one of the Forsworn killed his dragon. His dragon named _Saphira." _

There was a bout of whispering. "I know that, Argetlam! But a rider on the Knotted Throne ...!"

Arya saw, to her mixed alarm, amazement and and also with a strange flutter in her chest, that Eragon's hand was firmly placed on his blue sword Daiithil and his eyes were alive with a fierce aggression as he met Evadarr's stare. She was about to intervene – how, she did not know – when Eragon dropped his hand from his glittering sword.

"This debate should not be carried on with before the throne," he said in a low voice. "If you wish to continue, it will be in the form of a duel, Evadarr, though I would not have it come to that. Especially not over the honour of your niece and monarch."

"What do you mean? What right do you have to defend Princess Arya?" Evadarr said, looking genuinely confused. Eragon blinked; he looked at Arya, silently apologising to her; she would be annoyed, he knew, that he was showing his ... affections so obviously. But she stared at him so blankly that he could read no expression at all on her face. He looked back at Evadarr.

"Arya is my fellow Rider, fellow traveller on many occasions, respected colleague – and friend," he said quietly. Only he, Evadarr, a black-haired Lord and Arya on the dais could hear him. Her face had now bypassed blank and her eyes were starting to widen and her lips to part slightly.

Evadarr stared back at him, then suddenly stepped back. "I understand your reasoning, and I believe we can call this conversation finished." He gave Arya a deep, long look with a meaning that was unfathomable and bestowed one of equal obscurity on Eragon, before backing away. "Good day."

The elves had been depleted, and Arya was walking beside Eridor, holding one of his white neck-spikes, and unaware of her ever-darkening surroundings, the news from her mother slightly lessened in potency as she contemplated the more recent happenings inside the Throne Room.

Eragon ... what had been going through his head ...? What had he meant, her honour? And why ... what ... Arya sighed, annoyed at the distracting way her thoughts were circling.

_I do not understand you relationship with Eragon, _Eridor stated solemnly. Arya jumped.

_What do you mean, relationship? _

_I do not understand it. I cannot understand your feelings towards him either. _

_My feelings? But ... we're friends ..._

Eridor blinked at her. _I know that. But it seems very complicated. _

Arya frowned. _Now __**I **__don't understand __**you.**_

_Arya, you have had a long life, and met many people, I know, but ... Eragon and Saphira overshadow your memories, I know they do, I can feel them in your sleep. If you don't know what to feel towards them, how can I? _

Arya could only marvel at his astonishing wisdom for a moment; a warm hand touched her shoulder and said in a low voice, "Arya?"

" ... Yes, Eragon?" she replied after a split second in which she paused with nothing to say.

"Arya ..." he stopped and they stared at each other; his brown eyes were slightly anxious. "I hope ... you were not ... offended by my actions in the Throne Room, I ..."

Arya looked at him, puzzled at his words, and not sure what to say. "Why should I be offended? You did nothing wrong."

"Yes ..." He was uncomfortable. "I thought you ...I do not think such things are done in Ellesmera."

"_What_ things?" she asked, confused. "Actions in the Throne Room? You make no sense."

"I should not have challenged Evadarr like that; it is obviously not done here." Eragon said with a sigh. Arya blinked.

"No, I have never seen an elf fall to arms ... quite like that." She smiled slightly, imagining what her mother would have thought of it.

"He was not treating you with proper respect," Eragon replied with a scowl. "In Carvahall, if a man slanders a female relative or wife, we often fight it out for their honour." He slapped the hilt of Daiithil. "Evidently it is not done here – the looks I received from that back-haired lord!"

Arya nearly laughed at his expression, a mixture somewhere between anger, indignation, and bewilderment. "Elves don't think of honour in such a way ... and we rarely insult each other; forever is a long time to hold a grudge."

He grunted. "But you are royalty and a Rider! Evadarr shows no proper respect." He was truly angry.

"He is bitter," Arya said quietly. "He hates the Riders for what they did to his family. He is very bitter."

"Then he lets his emotions show more than any other elf I have met." Eragon said, thinking of Evadarr's furious, dark-eyed face.

"Just because you do not see them does not mean they are not there," replied Arya evenly. "But, yes, he could be quieter."

_He is not like Niduen, _Saphira said suddenly. _There is a startling difference between them. _

"Yes," Arya nodded. "But in some ways, they are the same. Evadarr was once very diplomatic, a great politician. Never leader, though – he liked to do things on his own. He was a great map-drawer; he visited every city and every mountain range, every cave and secret passage in Alagaesia; then he would return to his home here and transfer them onto paper. His achievements were seen as miracles by some, as he took no notes while travelling and all he drew came from his own memories." Arya paused.

"It was he that helped fine-tune the plan Jeod and Brom had brought forth to steal Saphira's egg."

"True?" Eragon asked, astonished. "Then I suppose I owe him a small debt."

"No, you don't. He only did it because he could not bear to see other people using his creations; he didn't expect the thief to succeed, anyway. It _was _admirable, I suppose. There was time when he laughed as much as he frowned."

"Delightful," Eragon remarked with no hint of a smile; Arya almost laughed again.

"Niduen is like her mother; her mother seemed quiet, but her mind was so quick and agile that it was impossible to better her; she had the same eyes as Niduen, too. She could give scorching scoldings." She added absently. Eragon smiled.

"Aunts are good at that, aren't they? Roran and I always lived in fear of Aunt Marian's scoldings, too."

Arya smiled. "When I was seven, just after my father died, I went out of the city a little way and found a small pond; I spent hours dabbling about in the water, trying to catch a newt. I fell over, too, and when I finally returned, I was covered in pondweed and little water-boatmen and mud and I smelt awful. My aunt had been out of her mind with worry." Arya grinned. "I'd never been scolded like that in all my short life."

Eragon blinked; he could somehow imagine a young Arya scrambling about in a little forest pond. It was oddly endearing. "Yes, I know what you mean. Aunt Marian could leave my ears ringing like Horsts' forge."

"Oh ..." Arya could see a younger version of Eragon being giving a scolding from faceless woman, her hands on her hips. "That would have been amusing to see."

"Oh, yes?" he said, raising his eyebrows. But then he grinned. "I could say the same for you."

"Yes, you could. But I don't think I'll be scolded for falling into a pond while looking for newts again," she said with a victorious smile.

"You never know. We might need newts for training and you might have go to and get them."

Arya's smile faded. "Training?" she said sharply. Eragon's face became serious, too.

"I think we should start ... soon. This news about the Queen is disturbing; the Empire has got over it's shock of the invasion; they're fighting back. " Eragon caught her gaze with a solemn look. "The sooner we can both fight, the better."

"I knew it would have to start soon," She said with a blank voice. Eragon looked at her.

"It's not that bad, is it? It sounds like I'm training you to send to the gallows."

Arya smiled. "No, it's not that bad. It will different and perhaps more challenging than anything else I've ever done in my life."

"Yes, it will be ... but it won't be you; you've got Eridor now. It'll both of you training." Eragon said softly. Arya stared at him, blinked slowly, then glanced at Eridor, walking in front.

"I know," she said, equally quietly. "I know." And she smiled, a glorious smile, in which Eragon could see her love for her dragon; he was relieved. He _would not _be witness to another Talana-like happening if it was within his power to stop it. He returned her smile.

"We shall start tomorrow, then." Arya looked surprised.

"So soon?"

"We have nothing to wait for."

"True. So ..." Arya looked at him questioningly. Eragon sighed.

"I must warn you, I've taught any one anything except Roran, and that was how to shoot a willow bow and a yew arrow. What I mean is, I don't quite know what to do – Oromis taught tens of students before me, and all of them in times of peace. You will have bear with me and my inexperience."

Arya frowned. "I trust you; I know you you will do well, and I am not likely to get up and vanish halfway through, am I?"

Eragon chuckled. "No, I hope not; that would dampen things slightly. I wouldn't want to miss the chance to give you all the words of wisdom I received from Brom. Not that you need much," he added hastily.

"Much?" Arya repeated. "Much wisdom?"

Eragon grinned at her indignant - might it even be _playful? - _expression. "No one can have too much knowledge."

"Perhaps. So we start training tomorrow, then?"

"We do."

"Where will it be?"

Eragon frowned, this time. "I don't know ... I will come to your house tomorrow, and then we will have to see."

"All right." Arya glanced away and up at a loud bird in tall tree, but Eragon caught a glimpse of a great apprehension in her eyes. "If that's sorted, then, I must go."

Eragon nodded, slightly reluctantly. But as she turned to go, he said suddenly, "Arya – I _am _sorry for causing you embarrassment in Tialdari Hall; perhaps it was none of my business."

"No ... no, Eragon, it was, and you actions were ... were wonderful; elves should take more notice of humans from small villages, even they are not Riders; it seems we could learn from them." She smiled gently, a look in her eyes that made the green seem murky as a forest pond. "I have never had any one fight for my honour before."

She turned right around, and went to Eridor; they walked off together towards their house, slowly. Very soon the darkness had swallowed her slender figure up completely.

--

_Hasn't Eridor's speech become excellent? He speaks the ancient language very well, and when I spoke to him the common tongue, he had little difficulty. _

_I know, it's excellent. It's so much harder for him, two languages at the same time; we learned the ancient language together. _

_Yes ... What should we do, Saphira? Training, I mean. _

_Talk. Tell them about what being a Shurtugal means, about the things we have done together, about how a dragon and Rider are really one. That will be a good start._

_You have been thinking very carefully over this, haven't you? _Eragon grinned at her from his bed. She put her chin on the edge of her cup-like nest and flicked her tongue at him.

_You have, too._

_Yes, but I didn't get that far. _

_Fortunate for you that you have me, then._

_Indeed. Where? _

_Why not here? _

_Well ... surely there's somewhere better? _Not_ Oromis' house, but somewhere more private._

_Not Tialdari Hall, not even the Menoa tree ... I don't know, little one. _

_It will have to be here, I suppose._

_Just go in the morning; everything will work out in some shape or form. _

_If you say so. _

_I do. Now, please, go to sleep._

Eragon dropped his head onto his pillow, tired. _I hope Queen Islanzadi is well._

_She survived the assassins, though ... they will have improved on her protection now._

_I hope so. _

_They will have, Eragon. I am sure of it. _

_Mm. _Eragon was glad of his covers; it still had not snowed in Ellesmera, but the wind was cold.

_Goodnight, Saphira. _

_Goodnight, little one, sleep well._

Eragon slept peacefully, and Arya, Eridor by her bed, was insensible to the world. But Niduen, in Osilon, was getting ready to leave for Ellesmera; she was curious to know of her cousin's good news.

--

What d'you reckon? P:)


	38. Trust, Friendship and Love

Yes, yes, I know ... it was a long time coming. Understatement. Lol. In my defence, life has become a soap opera. I mean, seriously, both parents with a new girlfriend and boyfriend. I wonder who my dad's is ... not that I'm talking to him ... Coronation Street would be proud, no? Lol!

Again, let extensive thanks go to every reviewer! Thanks ever so much for taking so much time to write them. I truly hope next update will be sooner.

Thirty-Eight.

Friendship and Love.

Arya stared at her hands, annoyed at the way they were betraying her feelings and misgivings – they were shaking. Her hairbrush was in her hand, and it trembled as her fingers shook. She placed it back down her chest of drawers quickly and turned away from the mirror that showed her pale face.

_When are they coming? _She demanded of Eridor. He was now so large that he took up all of her bedroom and had to sit all the time. He blinked unconcernedly.

_Three hours after sunset, Saphira told me. And the sun rose two hours ago. _

_Yes, I know that, _she snapped back sharply, then frowned and sat down on the edge of the bed. She felt horribly nervous; and that was unusual in itself. Not only that, but to start her _training ..._ her Rider training ...

_Will they start calling me Argetlam? _She wondered bleakly. _How long will it be before I am asked to abdicate the place of Regent for a proper elf? _She looked at Eridor. She did not regret being bonded with him – no, not at all – but now she was not a proper elf, like all her forefathers. As Eragon had said, so long ago in Tronjheim, a Rider changes and becomes something different from every other born race in the land. And now she was a Princess, next in line for the throne, and not even pure elf. She looked down bitterly.

And what would her mother think? Really, Arya had stopped caring those seventy years previously. But it was still not pleasant to imagine her mother's expression at being told that her only daughter was a Rider. Arya smiled sourly. It was almost laughable.

_When do I meet the Queen? _

_Oh, Eridor! How can I answer that? I don't know ... no one knows. _

_Your memories of her are not all happy, are they? _He remarked. Arya closed her hand tightly.

_No, they are not. We did not speak as mother and daughter for seven decades; you know that._

_Yes; but you will not let me see all. _

Arya scowled, angry; she did not want these old memories brought up; why was Eridor always so set on knowing everything? _It's not important._

_I was under the impression that a Rider and dragon should know each other very well. _

_We have only been bonded a moon span or two. Plenty of time to get acquainted, _she said shortly. Eridor snorted.

_I know you; and you know me ... perhaps the finer details are lacking?_

_That is what our training is for, _she replied curtly and severed the connection. Eridor laid his large head on his front claws with a heave of breath and she returned to staring at the opposite wall.

Finer details ... if Eridor knew all of them ... He would think less of her, she knew. All those things she had done ... that soldier she had killed so dishonestly, that man in Gil'ead ... her temper, those times she had shouted without thinking, completely lost control, the things she had said ... He did **not** need to know them.

Arya would admit it to only her very innermost self, but she did not want Eridor's opinion of herself lowered. And it would be, if he knew ... Oh, she did not want that. No one knew her, Arya – her real self, deep inside – and she was keen to keep it that way.

--

Eragon pulled the nozzle for hot water on the bathing tub to turn it off and stripped off quickly; even the cloth barriers of the elves could not keep out the all-pervading chill that had settled over Ellesmera in the night.

_Unseasonable weather, _Saphira sniffed. _The elves are worried, you know – they know that the small animals are dying and the predators becoming fiercer. _I _know that, too._

Eragon frowned. _Is this for the same reason as the Fanghur come south?_

_Yes, I believe so. _

_Damn', _Eragon said, as he finished washing and reached for a towel. _How bad is it outside the city? Will it endanger the elves?_

_Not this season, such as it is. But if this continues next year, if ... if Galbatorix has not fallen, then I see a problem for the elves left in Du Weldenvarden. _

Eragon sighed. _Everywhere he tightens his grip. Nasuada will need us soon. I wish we could send word to her._

_We cannot. Even a dove is not safe enough to take a letter concerning Eridor and Arya. _

_I know. But I fear that Nasuada will make plans soon and we must know when we are to march. The elves are still in Gil'ead. _

_No one can know, _Saphira said robustly. _And there is no point in worrying. If it is coming, it will come. _

_Yes, I suppose so. _He quickly pulled on a shirt, because it was colder in the bedroom than in the wash room and the frost was only just fading. _What are we ... how shall we ... start? _Eragon asked. Saphira hummed.

_I don't know, _she said, seemingly unworried. _I am sure they both will have questions; and we must answer them._

_Yes, but after that?_

_Well ... Oromis started our training by asking all those questions, so you can, too. _

_I can _not!_ Arya will not appreciate that at all._

_It is not about that she will appreciate, but what must be done for their training, _Saphira replied sternly. Eragon clicked his tongue uncomfortably as he secured her saddle on her back.

_It will be very awkward. _

_Oh, it won't be so bad, Eragon, _said Saphira. _Let's go, or we _will_ be late._

But Eragon was not convinced as he climbed onto her back.

--

Arya selected a pot of some sweet tea from the extensive range in the cabinet and spooned some into a mug as she waited for the water to boil. _Don't you need to hunt? _She asked Eridor, glancing to where he was curled on the floor of her house.

_Not yet. Maybe I will go with Saphira later. _

_Oh. Good. _But she could not repress a twinge of loneliness: Eridor had Saphira, but who did she have? There was no one to go walking with or talk with or simply just enjoy being with.

Of course, it was not unusual for her – had there ever been anyone since the age of six? Not really. Silly that she was getting emotional over it now; it had never bothered her before. She didn't need anyone like that and never would. Anyway, she couldn't imagine someone like that in the first place.

_Eragon._

Uncomfortable, Arya pushed away that thought. But no matter what she turned her thoughts to, that one came back. What would it be like to spend time with Eragon when there was no war against the Empire? It was a thought most definitely out of the ordinary, and Arya tried to shut it away and ignore it. Eridor flicked his tail lazily.

_Your water has boiled, _he remarked. Arya jumped and quickly poured the water as it started to boil right over. _How can you drink that? _He asked, quite genuinely puzzled. _Little plants all dried and bitty. _

_Tea is very nice, _she replied. _It is very warming on days like today._

Puzzlement turned to disgust. _Drinking flowers. That truly is strange. How can you do it? It seems so ... strange._

_Didn't any one ever tell you that ... _Arya trailed off; no, no one _had _ever given Eridor manners. He'd never even known his mother.

_Didn't any one ever tell me what? _Eridor enquired with his usual curiosity.

_It doesn't really matter,_ she said hurriedly. _I wasn't thinking. _She sipped at the tea. _Who **were** your parents, Eridor? _

_How, _said Eridor with a certain grumpiness, _am I supposed to know?_

_Oh, _said Arya, feeling immediately sorry, _I'm so sorry, Eridor. I ... I didn't ... _

_No matter,_ he said, but Arya thought she might have touched a sore spot. _It is not important. _

Arya pressed her lips together unhappily. She thought it _did_ matter, even if he didn't. She would ask Eragon about that. She could tell that Eridor was still in a rather melancholy mood. She stared at the half-full cup of redcurrant tea, then with a hidden smile, pushed under Eridor's scaly nose.

_Are you **sure** you don't want some tea? _She asked with a satisfied smile, which was quickly wiped away: Eridor swiped at the cup and sent it spinning away to land, amid the bright juice, on her rug.

_Eridor!_

He sent a pleased feeling to her. _Oops._

Arya snorted in disgust – inwardly pleased at the way she had drawn out his sadness – and went to find a cloth.

--

Niduen squeezed her horses' flanks gently, urging her forward. "Move on, Lenora," she said gently. "You will be home tonight!"

Lenora trotted forward obediently. Niduen had borrowed her from an elf well-known for her excellent breeding techniques and was under strictest instructions to bring Lenora back fat and healthy.

There had been no more doves from Gil'ead; Niduen very much hoped that it meant the elves were all relatively in control of the Imperial army that was laying siege to them; only a small part of her suggested otherwise.

Niduen doubtfully supposed that no news must be good sign. But, as for news ...

What did Arya want to tell her? Niduen's house was far, far out from Osilon itself and she had had barely any news from anywhere in Alagaesia since leaving Ellesmera. She'd never even seen the dragon egg. Ah, well. It would still be there when she returned.

Niduen approached the borders of Ellesmera, an unsettled feeling in her abdomen. Gilderien the Wise appeared before and she murmured her name to him. He left in a glow of golden sunlight and Niduen proceeded into Ellesmera with a cautious air.

--

When Eragon reached Arya's part of Tialdari Hall, he saw her outside, wringing a rug out onto the grass. She looked up and dropped it when she noticed him.

"Good morning," he said cheerfully. Arya turned to him with a faint frown on her face.

"Good morning," she said, as if the words were foreign to her. Eragon wondered if he should have greeted her in the elven fashion instead.

"How are you?"

"Well, thank-you," replied Arya, smacking the palms of her hands against her thighs. "Niduen is expected home tomorrow. She has not yet met Eridor."

"That will be a surprise for her," Eragon said smiling. Arya did not look happy.

"I hope she will not mind, but even if she does not ... I have endured worse."

"I think she will happy," Eragon said truthfully. "Niduen has a very open mind."

"She does," agreed Arya. "But I cannot help feeling that ..." she stopped and stared calculatingly at Eragon. "Come inside. I have made some tea." It did not sound like something he could refuse.

Once inside, Arya dropped some tea into a pair of earthenware mugs and poured some water that was still steaming into them. "Lemon grass," she said curtly, stirring the tea. A sharp tang began to waft away from it. She shoved it towards him and sat down.

"Can I rule the elven kingdom?" she asked suddenly, abruptly lowering her mug from her lips.

"Well ..." Eragon said cautiously, "if it is against no rule of your people – certainly, I should think," he said carefully. Arya sighed, her fingers drumming on the side of the mug, impatience barely concealed on her face.

"Perhaps I should have been more direct: do _you_ think I should be allowed to be Queen?"

Eragon stared at her, taken aback. He took a moment to reply. "I do not think it is anywhere near my place to comment on that, Arya. Surely Niduen, or ... or Lady Mira would be a better consultant?"

"No!" The colour came to her cheeks. "They are not Riders. They cannot understand. Because even if I take the throne, it will not be me, will it ? There is Eridor," she finished with another sigh, but a more agitated one. "Whatever happens, he will always be there."

Eragon stiffened. "Do you mind?" He felt just slightly angry. But Arya smiled briefly.

"No, of course not. I ... I realise that we have only been bonded a short time, but I would not refuse his hatching for me, if I had a choice again."

"Good," said Eragon with immense relief. But Arya looked miserable.

"I don't even know what to think yet. I can't decide if ... if it is good for my country, or if it will be a thing of joy to my family – not that I have much left," she said bitterly. "I feel like a child again, knowing only what I have been told."

"Children ... Children are born with instinctive knowledge," he started hesitantly. "I think maybe it is the same for you and Eridor. And for every other Rider that ever was," he added. Arya stared down at he depths of her mug.

"Perhaps." But Arya didn't trust her feelings like Eragon seemed to. Seven decades was a long time to ignore them. Eridor growled low in his throat.

_You see? Eragon does not hide his feelings like you do. _

_What do you know? You are barely two months old, _Arya said impulsively, then regretted it. But Eridor ignored her, standing up.

_But you hide so many things from me! I do not understand. Are you hiding them from me, or from yourself? I cannot tell._

_I am not hiding ...! _Arya protested.

_But, then, why do you not let me in to your mind, to understand you? _

"I don't know!" Arya said out loud, glaring at Eridor. _I ... can't ... _

Eragon leaned forward. "What is wrong?" he asked urgently. Arya turned her glare on him.

"Nothing."

Eragon frowned. "I know that perhaps I am not teaching you in the way that I was taught by Glaedr and Oromis," he said levelly, "but still Saphira and I are going to train you nevertheless. I am sorry for saying it, Arya, but you must tell us if something happens that concerns you or Eridor."

Arya looked at him as if for the first time. "I realise that," she said curtly, "but I must have my privacy."

Eragon grimaced, remembering having this conversation with Oromis. "You'd be surprised how little you need in truth." Arya raised her eyebrows. "And whatever you may wish to keep from anyone – you must keep nothing from your dragon."

"Must?" she repeated. "_Must_? You have no power to tell me who to confide and talk with."

"I am not telling you," Eragon said heatedly. He automatically reached to Saphira and she joined with him. "But I am trying to help. You cannot simply continue as normal now. Eridor is not like a close friend, to be confided in when you wish. He must know everything, all the time, and you must hide nothing from him."

Arya lifted her head. "What do you mean?"

"Was that what you were speaking about just now?" Eragon asked, disregarding her question. Arya glanced at Eridor; she did not speak for a long moment. Then:

"Yes, it was. But I see it as no concern of yours."

Eragon looked down for a brief second. "I think that it is. Saphira and I are ... we are going to train you and Eridor. This is the time when that starts. We will do out best ... but we can only do so if you trust us."

Eridor snapped his jaws together and turned his bright gaze on Eragon. _I trust you and Saphira, Eragon. Of course you will be our teachers._

Eragon met his gaze and they shared a grave look. But then Eridor laughed, a sound even deeper and gruffer than Saphira's, and threw up his head before exiting the room to find Saphira. But Arya sat back on the padded bench and frowned as she watched him go.

"Surely you know that I trust you, Eragon. I do. But I am a great many years older than you were when you were bonded with Saphira, and it makes a difference. I have spent decades with different races; I have learnt not to wear my heart on my sleeve, and to show no emotion, and to deal with anything that worries me myself." She closed her eyes for a long second. "And I have a hundred years' worth of memories."

Eragon watched Arya lean back, a strange sense of guilt in his stomach. Arya had just listed, almost categorically, the reasons that elves over a hundred years of age were not allowed to touch the eggs and become Riders before the Fall.

"If I had a hundred years' worth of memories and thoughts," he said gently, "I think that perhaps I would be glad to have someone I could trust completely to share them with."

Arya's eyes shot open; her gaze was piercing. "You do not understand. I am so ..." she looked down at the floor through her lashes. " ... so very attached to Eridor now, such as I never thought I could be to one living thing. But over that century of life, I have done many things I regret, many despicable things. You are young, I do not think you can understand." Eragon's insides clenched as she said this. "If I told him these things ..." She trailed off and closed her mouth sharply.

Eragon glanced outside, seeing Eridor and Saphira, their scales bright as they waited outside. _What do you think? _he asked.

_They had a disagreement, _she said, distress in her voice. _Eridor has told me. Arya is scared of talking to him, isn't she? _

_Do you think so? _Eragon asked.

_Yes, I do. I believe she thinks that Eridor needs only know a few things, about her and her life. But Eridor should be allowed to know everything, be able to access the deepest part of her mind. She needs to trust him. _

_Trust ..._ Eragon repeated. _Who _do _you think Arya trusts? I have never known her to fully obey anyone's orders, nor to fully love any liege lord, Nasuada, Ajihad _or_ Islanzadi._

Saphira paused. _You are right. Then it is not that she does not trust, she ... cannot let herself trust wholeheartedly. _Saphira cocked her head. _That must be very unpleasant. _

_It must be. _Eragon had never thought of Arya that way before. To have lived a full hundred years away from home and not be able to trust anyone. Being away from even her own race – surrounded by dwarves and men and knowing no one. _And carrying your egg, too. _

Saphira agreed. Eragon looked at Arya, and for the first time felt he could grasp those long years, stretching out endlessly in front and behind. Years and years being strong and on her own. _We might become that old if we survive this war. _

_But we have each other,_ Saphira comforted.

_And Arya has Eridor now, _Eragon replied. He looked back at Arya. "Eridor will not desert you, whatever you do or have done. You need not worry about that."

Arya returned his gaze coldly. "I am not worried." But her hands moved restlessly in her lap. Eragon felt like throwing up his own in exasperation, but didn't.

"You look worried," he said mildly. Arya turned sharply to look at him.

"Teacher you may be, but I will not spill my life before you."

"I know," he said, ignoring her icy tone. "I only ask, Arya ... that you trust Saphira and I enough to let us help you and Eridor, just as Oromis and Glaedr did for us."

Arya lifted her head, and met his gaze with a cool, clear look. "I trust you, Eragon. Perhaps that is not obvious. But I have never trusted wholeheartedly, and you must understand – "

"I do," said Eragon gently. "I do, Arya." Something in his voice must have convinced her, because she continued:

"I do not confide solely in anyone. Do not expect me to suddenly become free and easy like the women of your village."

"It does not have to be a chore," Eragon pressed on. "Eridor will listen to anything you say. He will not judge you, nor desert you. You are not a single person any more, you are a Rider – your dragon becomes an extension of yourself, in some ways, and you your dragon's."

Arya's gaze became softer. "Eloquently put."

Eragon said nothing. He could see Arya was deep in thought; he studied her face as he waited and felt his clutch hopelessly. She would never love him, but he would always love her. Always.

"What is it like to be a Rider?"

Arya was staring at him intently. Her words had been strangely soft. Eragon stared back at her for long moment; then he put his face to his hands and closed his eyes.

"It is ... it is ... At first it is wonderful, when you discover the connection you have with your dragon. And the first time you speak to each other, and watching your dragon grow." He observed Arya's thinned lips; he seemed to have touched a nerve. "But then ... then you realise that everyone is out to get you. Galbatorix is always thinking about you, wondering whether you could be turned to work for him or whether it would be easier to kill you and put down all resistance. Even the Varden and Dwarves are like vultures, after your services and your reassurances that you will fight with them." Eragon swallowed. "When I realised this, it scared me more than anything had yet. The King inspired as much terror and hate in me as it did everyone else I knew. I did not want to meet him. I hated him but I was scared of him ... an all-powerful madman."

Eragon took a breath. "But even amongst all this turmoil, this fighting and all the politics it includes, you find out just how much your dragon means to you. And that frightens you as well. Because if your dragon died, you know that you would die, too. But the worst is wondering what if your dragon dies, but you stay alive, left alone alone forever, with a great pit where you dragon used to be ...?" His voice became hoarse; Arya looked stricken. He was not sure if he _was_ helping at all. Even he himself was starting to dwell on his words.

"So you and your dragon fight and fight and see the most terrible things, and do the most terrible things on the battlefield; and still the threat of Galbatorix coming hangs over you; and your friends and family are constantly in danger; and you try to help everyone else, but you can't save everyone, or put wards on everyone, or catch every fatal blow on your own sword or take each poisoned arrow." Eragon leant forward and put the heels of his hands over his eyes. He could almost see the horrible, scalded vista of the Burning Plains, and smell the blood of Farthen Dur.

"As a single person, war is horrifying enough; but as a Rider it is in some ways easier to bear: if you can share your mind your other half and she can share with you, then it is not so potent. But always while you fight, you have your mind with your dragon, and you desperately try to save her from every blow, and she does the same for you. You feel her pain when you are hurt, and she feels yours. The pain is two-fold; yet it is shared.

"But then," Eragon said with a stronger voice, "you remember that whatever hardship comes your way, whatever happens to _you_, yourself, through everything, it's not really you: your dragon is there. And every difficulty is shared, every sorrow and heartbreak is shared; and she can understand the sadness and terror and grief; and she helps. Every little joy and delight and wonder is magnified. Because your dragon is always there for you, and always going to stand with, whatever you do. And you yourself would never desert her, never refuse to help her."

Eragon and Arya met eyes solemnly. He could only guess at her feelings and thoughts. "You are never, _ever_ alone again. You trust your dragon, and she trusts you. I think that is the only way to describe how a Riders' life is – even renegade Riders like Saphira and I are."

Train of thought exhausted, Eragon watched Arya. She, too, stared, but out of the window down on the forest floor, where Saphira and Eridor were conversing gravely in the common tongue.

"You have given me much to think about today, Eragon," she said eventually. "I understand your meaning, I think; but I would appreciate time to think over it."

"Certainly, Arya," he replied, seeing no change in her stone-like face. "Tomorrow perhaps we could spar? It has been a long time since we last did so."

"Yes; I would like that." But still she stared down at the dragons. Eragon retreated.

"I will meet you are the training grounds tomorrow, Arya."

"Of course. Good day, Eragon."

Eragon rejoined Saphira, nodding with a smile to Eridor, and clambered up onto her back. _Did you relay what I said to Eridor? _He asked as he secured the leg straps.

_Of course I did. It was very eloquently put, little one, _she said softly. _I was very proud of you. _

_Thank-you. _As Saphira rose away from the forest floor, leaving Eridor to go back into the house with Arya, Eragon dared to look behind at Arya's quarters. She was still sitting there, the blank expression on her face, her long hair fluttering in the cold breeze.

--

Minutes and hours passed and Arya had not moved from her place by the window. She stared down at the forest, a very absorbed look on her face. Eridor alighted on her windowsill; he had just been hunting.

_Aren't you cold? The wind is in the north._

Arya stirred slowly. _Not really. Did you eat well? _She added.

_Well enough. The small animals are so very thin and mangy at the moment, though. _

_Don't hunt them, then, _said Arya shortly. Eridor said nothing, but just stared at her; she stared back squarely.

_Did you hear what Eragon said? _asked Arya hesitantly. She was half-hoping he hadn't: it would deflect all emotional talks that way.

But Eridor lifted his head an arched his neck, a glint in his bright eyes. _I did. _

_Oh._

_I agree with him, _Eridor continued.

_Do you? _Arya asked weakly.

_Of course I do. Trust and friendship and love. I think that is how a dragon and Rider become one._

_Excuse me? _said Arya quickly, sitting upright in the window seat.

_Trust and friendship and love, _Eridor repeated, somewhat bemusedly. _Because like Eragon said, a dragon and Rider trust each other in battle and in matters of the heart; and they have the deepest friendship and they love each other more than anything else. _

_Oh, do they? _

_Yes. _Eridor stared at Arya suspiciously. _Do you not trust me? _

Arya did not reply. She shifted awkwardly and dropped her eyes, breath caught in her breast.

Eridor swayed to the side, disbelieving. _Do we not have friendship? _

"Oh ..." breathed Arya. She put her hands to her head and clutched her hair.

_Do you not love me? _

Arya did not know what to say; it felt like her heart was threatening to burst from her chest.

_Because I love **you**, _Eridor said stubbornly, pawing the ground, but with a certain amount of tenderness in his deep voice. _It had not occurred to me that you did not love me. _

Arya pressed her hand to her heart: it ached strangely and painfully. She stared into Eridor's emerald eyes until they almost seemed to be the only thing in her sight.

And then for the first time since he had hatched for her, a feeling of pain, and loss, and betrayal leaked through their connection in a way that his feelings had never done before. All at once Arya realised just how special that connection was: how wonderful and amazing it truly was. How lucky she was.

And how much she loved Eridor.

In a dream-like way, she went to Eridor to stand in front of him and place her hand on his forehead. And still more slowly, she reached around his thick neck, avoiding the spikes on his back, and hugged him tightly, clasping her hands together and pressing herself to him.

_I love you, too, Eridor. _

--

When Niduen arrived by Arya's door, she stopped a moment to catch her breath. She had only listened to Lady Mira long enough to find out that the egg had hatched before tearing off to Arya's house. Niduen was not stupid. She banged on the door very hard, then opened it, regardless; then she stopped and her heart seemed to pause.

A large green dragon was looking directly at her.

And he was growling.

--

**There we are! If anyone is going to drop off a review - ahem - I would really love to know what you think of Eridor? and their training?**

**Now, I have entered a competition online, a writing competition, and if anyone feels like reading the stories up there, the website is:**

_ Too Write Young Writers dot com_

**I will be putting another two up shortly. Please take a look!!**

**Thanks so much for sticking with me - very much!**


	39. Carrots

Hi people! I know it's been a while ... ok, ages ... as usual, family problems. On th plus side, I now have TWO jobs! muhaha, NVQ, her I come!

_**Thank-you so much, reviewers, and readers! I really hope this does not disappoint. **_

P.S.: My sister wrote this in one of her frequent fits of madness! I left it on because, well ... weirdness is always good! Ahem.

Maud likes playing the drums. She has her very own drum kit! She joined the Dragon Club; a club of dragons playing the drums! The mummy and daddy dragons didn't want her there to start off with, but after she ate their porridge, they were quite happy to let her in! Of course, she puked it up after, but she didn't let them see that. Maud thought that Solembum was a vain moggy, who thought too highly of himself, and then she thought was she just thought was slightly random.

Chapter Thirty-Nine.

Carrots.

Niduen's laughter rang high into the cold air and up into the treetops. She was having great fun watching the tiny spasms on Arya's face as she told Niduen all about Eridor, their training, and his hatching.

As well as Eragon. In whatever Arya said, Eragon crept in somehow. Niduen found it all highly amusing. "You see?" she said. "I am only gone for a couple of months, and you do something extraordinary!"

"It is not funny," Arya said, sticking out her chin. "And it was not my decision. It was Eridor's," she said, glancing at where he was sitting. Niduen intercepted that look and shivered; she had never seen Arya look so softly on any one thing in all her life.

"Yes, I know," she replied more gently. "Won't your mother be pleased!"

Arya looked wary. "Do you think so? I do not. She will not be happy that I am in a position of even greater danger."

"But a Rider! It is a position of great honour still."

"You sound like a love-struck elfling," Arya said with distaste. "Great honour, yes – but who is here to see it? Eragon, Saphira, Eridor and I are the last Riders. It is not so wonderful a thing as it would have a hundred years ago."

"So doom-laden!" Niduen said with widened eyes. "Has all the cheerfulness been leached out of you, cousin?"

Arya's look of distaste did not falter. "I am not the sort of person to go shouting my feelings to the world. When was the last time you knew me do that?"

"Certainly," Niduen said easily. "But, Arya –" she clasped of Arya's hands " – do not think that your mother will despise you for this. She _will_ be proud. Do not worry about it, please."

Arya pulled her hand away. "I am not worried. Do not treat me like a child, Niduen."

Niduen stared at Arya, exasperated. "Do not act like one, then!" Arya stiffened and Niduen eyed her grimly. "Always hiding, or travelling, or fighting. Sometimes I wonder how you can be an ambassador for our nation if you are as cold as you wish to be. I know perfectly well that you can loose your temper more spectacularly than even Uncle Evandar could."

Two spots of colour appeared on Arya's cheeks. "You know not what you speak of," she said coldly. "It has been a long time since our childhood."

"I cannot believe that you have changed so much," Niduen replied equally coolly. "I know also that you fight a like wild thing when need be. Don't think rumours have not spread on your infrequent returns to Ellesmera since you became ambassador. You want to be so very cool and detached and yet –" Niduen lifted her hand tilted it as sand was running through her fingers onto the forest floor. "And yet I can see your cool, calm façade just ... slipping away ..." She dropped her hand and it hit her thigh with a sharp slap and looked at Arya triumphantly. "Don't think I don't know you, cousin."

Arya's cheeks had lost their colour. She rose with a stiff back. "I must go to the training to meet with Eragon and Saphira." Arya poked Eridor's mind gently and he got up to follow her to the training grounds. With superb dignity, Arya nodded to Niduen. But, as they left, she said back to where Niduen was still sitting:

"Do not think you are the only one who knows me, Niduen."

And then they were gone.

--

Arya held her sword with a tight grip; Niduen's words rang about her head still and they annoyed her. Would no one stop meddling with her, and disapproving of everything she did? It had been her own decision to go to the Varden with Brom and so she had. Glenwing, Faolin and her had _all_ volunteered to take the egg and guard it and still no one was happy.

After their deaths, she had continued in her duty, just as her two companions would have wanted her to. She had killed and fought and hungered and thirsted. So, when the egg had been stolen she, Arya, had carried it again – and still her family found fault!

So Niduen, in no uncertain terms had informed that a Rider was an honourable position, but ... but that Niduen was berating her for fighting too fiercely and for not losing her own temper was more than Arya wished to know.

Then again, Niduen did not loose her temper. She was not a tempestuous person. Arya had discovered that Niduen had changed greatly since they were young. Niduen enjoyed company now. She liked to be with talking, laughing elves and to be in the thick of every political debate, keeping quiet, but listening carefully. And on the occasions she had become Regent in Arya's absence, she had taken the Elven Council well and competently. She probably enjoyed it: Arya found it only to be a necessity with the Queen gone.

Arya drummed her fingers against the silver hilt of her sword. She did not need to be at the Training Fields for another half-hour.

_I like your cousin, _Eridor said quietly. He was pacing quietly alongside her. _She did not go with your memories of her._

_What? _Said Arya sharply.

_Your memories of her were very angry and resentful, _said Eridor. Arya sighed. She no longer minded Eridor knowing her dreams and memories, but when it caught her unawares it was startling. And still mildly disturbing.

_I was very young. I had never been so very alone before. _It cost Arya very much to say those words, even to Eridor. But he did not even blink. He was a little like Eragon, who would never really exclaim over anything she said so as not to risk offending her. Concern and compassion radiated from him through their link. It was a sweet, comforting feeling and one that had certainly been lacking in Arya's life.

_You will be alone no longer, _he said, firmly and gently.

_I know, Eridor. I know. _

--

"_Draumr Kopa_."

Eragon raised his hand over a bowl of water, but as the Gedwey Ignesia glowed, the water clouded over: Nasuada did indeed have wards around her – very strong ones. Eragon suspected that Annatar was responsible for that.

"_Draumr Kopa." _Roran had a ward around him, too! The Varden were extraordinarily vigilant. This eased Eragon's heart; no magical assassination attempt would be made on Roran. But it would have been good to glimpse his brother, for once after so long a time.

_They're all protected, Saphira,_ he said. _Even Roran._

_Excellent, _Saphira replied from her blanket-lined bed. _I am very proud of Nasuada. Try Elva and Angela now. _

"_Draumr Kopa." _The water misted over on both tries. Eragon lowered his hand, relieved, but disappointed. _I did want to see that she was all right. We might never see either of them again, you know. _

_So gloomy._ Saphira said without replying properly. _Scry our friend Solembum. _

_Ha! _Eragon grinned. _I did not think of that. _He spoke the words again and the water shimmered. It changed from silver, to opaque, and finally to a dull brown.

_What is it? _

_I don't know ... a ward to divert our attention from him, perhaps? Or a ... a _Eragon paused. _I really don't know. _

_Let us hear, _Saphira said. _Surely he cannot have made a ward so very intricate? _

_Maybe – and I know less about Solembum than you do. _"Let us hear," he said in the Ancient Language.

There was not a marked difference. A few faint voices called but none of the words were distinguishable. Eragon thought he could discern two languages, but could not tell what they were. Then the brown of the bowl changed; it seemed to move away from the bowl and become ...

_Look at that!_

Solembum's skinny back and clever face covered in brown fur came into view. And as he retreated and Eragon and Saphira were able see the whole of him, they became aware of the way his bangs were twisted and held with string in strange dreadlocks that fell over his nose and around his ears.

_What has happened to his fur? _Saphira exclaimed. _He looks like a bedraggled rat_.

Eragon grinned. _It is Elva! She has been playing with his hair! When last I saw her, it was her favourite hobby._

_So she **is** with Solembum, at least. _

_Yes; and I am very glad. Now we know that she is safe. Solembum will protect her; perhaps Angela is with him. _Eragon felt a great weight of tension leave him: it was good to know that at least one person close to him was relatively safe. _Angela will protect her._

_Aye. _Saphira glanced outside at the sun. _So cold today. All the animals huddle in their burrows and dens. All I can catch is larger prey. I hate those people long ago that made that accursed Vault. _

Eragon followed her gaze to the rising sun. _We'll destroy it, Saphira. After the war ... _he faltered; there might not be any afterwards. ..._ After the war we will put Brom and Kuthian out of their misery. _

_We will. _Saphira half-lifted her wings in irritation. _And more than that, besides. _

Eragon sighed and stood up, buckling Daiithil onto his battered leather belt. The beautiful blue and fine workmanship looked strange against the leather of the soldier's belt he had taken from the dead man on the Burning Plains.

_Arya will be waiting. _

_Waiting and not even noticing the time passing. Sometimes the elves truly amaze me. _

Eragon snorted. This had happened before during his training with Oromis: sometimes Orik and he would arrive late at the designated place and Arya would sitting quite patiently waiting. Mostly she didn't seem to notice the passing time.

_It's hard to tell whether she's annoyed or not, _he said.

_She was annoyed when we woke her in the Beor mountains – remember? _

_So might you be if someone woke you up in the middle of mountains infested with huge, dangerous wolves and miniature dragons prowling around in the vicinity._

_I, _said Saphira with a certain primness, _would not be in any danger because nothing in the Beor mountains is as big as I am. _

_True. _Eragon secured the girth and martingale and jumped up into the saddle. _Let's go, then. _

Saphira soared out of the window, into the sun they had so recently been scrutinising.

--

When Eragon and Saphira landed on the Training Field, they saw that Arya was indeed waiting. She showed no sign of impatience whatsoever, but Eragon wished, heartily, that he had arrived first: he could not quite explain why, but he did wish it.

"Atra esterni on thelduin," he said, bringing his two fingers to his lips. Arya had never shown any surprise at being greeted in the human way, but Eragon felt that, after yesterday, he should be as courteous as he could.

"Un atra mor'ranr lifa hjarta onr," she replied. "Good morning, Eragon."

"Good morning. I apologise for being late - Have you been waiting long?"

"No, I have not. I have been with my cousin." A cloud passed over Arya's face. "She has returned from Osilon."

"Niduen? Is she well?"

"Yes," said Arya, nostrils flaring, "she is.

"Good," said Eragon, looking at her curiously. He could by now tell that the way she held her head so high and proud was her way of showing annoyance or anger; was it because of Niduen? "Shall we start?"

"Yes." She unsheathed her long, thin sword and held it up before her. Eragon drew Daiithil, savouring the exquisite balance; the old leather belt was still used, but the crude soldier's sword was gone.

Eragon had barely lifted Daiithil ready before Arya struck: she smashed the silver blade down, then danced away, striking at his side. Eragon barely twisted round in time, and only just blocked the second.

_What on earth –?_

_Stop gaping and defend yourself, _Saphira said, butting his mind, _or it will be the shortest duel you have ever been in!_

Eragon grunted, and braced his muscles for Arya's next blow. She threw the side of her blade against his, then jumped back and went for his side. This time he moved forward, aiming at both sides of her, which she blocked.

Arya began to give way; first Eragon was able to gain ground, pushing at her defences. Then Arya took the offensive again, beating him back. For an hour they raged backwards and forwards over the training grounds (to the mixed amazement and annoyance of other elves) and every single one of Arya's strokes were stronger than the last: the great amount of energy that seemed to have made that powerful first blow had not abated. Eragon judged, looking at her eyes in the infrequent opportunities, that it was anger or resentment that gave that energy; and he hoped, fervently, that it was not he who had provoked it.

Finally, when wisps of black hair had started to escape from the band around her head, and when her teeth were ground together in effort, Arya swung with all the force she could put into it. She crashed the thin silver sword into Daiithil, teeth bared, and lifted her eyes to his for the briefest of instants.

But the impact of the two elven-made swords, both strong, made of unyielding metal, was immense: it jarred up Eragon's arm, shaking his wrist, twisting the tendon painfully. He dropped Daiithil into the dirt with a grunt, holding his wrist.

He looked to Arya. Her sword was flung away from her; it lay in the dust at an odd angle. Arya herself was bending over, hand clutched to her chest. Her breath came short.

"Arya – let me see – is it bad?" He moved over to her, dazed. A headache was starting to pound behind his eyes.

"No. Just a sprain, I think." She stood up, but kept the hand to her chest. "It's well."

"Please – let me see." Eragon grimaced. "My wrist and head feel like Urur's own hammer. Yours can't be much better."

Arya did not approve of this wording; her lips thinned, but she held out her right hand with slight reluctance. Eragon very gently took it and touched the slender wrist with his own unhurt hand. Arya's muscles tensed, but she made no noise. Eragon recoiled, afraid he had hurt her.

"You'd better check it yourself," he said hastily. Arya, amid the sting, hid a smile at his caution. It was, she knew, because he was still always wary of offending her; this gave her an unexpected pang of something much like ... regret.

Eridor came barrelling over the training ground with scant regards to the other elves, interrupting Arya distracted thoughts. _Are you all right?!_

Arya looked up bemusedly. _Yes, I'm fine. _She frowned incredulously. _Were you worried about me?_

_Was I worried about you? _Repeated Eridor, ducking his head to look her in the eyes. _**Was I worried about you?! **Well, of course I was! I felt that! _

_Did you really? _She smiled fondly at him. It was almost a warm feeling, the knowledge that someone really did care about her so much.

_Well? Why did you hit so hard? _he demanded with severity. The buoyant feeling in Arya could not be subdued. _You or Eragon could have broken your wrists! _

_No, we wouldn't. Eragon is strong as an elf now. Anyway – _she smiled again – _you are acting like a mother hen. Saphira hasn't come to see if Eragon is well. _

Eridor flicked his tongue out. _Would you rather I hadn't? _

_Oh, no, Eridor, I didn't mean that! Don't you – can't you – _Arya paused. _Can't you feel how that made **me** feel? _

Eridor nodded with a snake-like movement. _Yes, I could. I was just checking. _

_Ha!_ exclaimed Arya, bringing her hand up to pat the blunt of his nose, but winced: the pain in her hand was more than she had expected. Eragon saw.

"Must be a bad sprain," he said. "Tie something around it. Here ... " he muttered a few quick words and ripped a strip from the bottom of his shirt with magic. His hand was still hurting. "Tie that, very tightly."

Arya raised an eyebrow and glanced at the torn shirt. "And you?"

"My bones are thicker ... I think it'll leave a bad bruising, though." Eragon prodded the reddish skin around the joint, where the brown hairs of his arms dissipated.

"Well, heal it."

"There's not actually anything to heal yet," said Eragon with a grin. "Anyway, what sort of person would I be if I cured every little ailment of mine with magic? Other people can't."

Arya stared at him. She almost always healed herself with magic, unless she had no energy left after battle. "All right. Could you tie it, please?" she asked, shelving her pride a little. Eragon's brown gaze flicked towards her, then he moved forward.

"It _is_ clean," he said, gently laying her palm upwards and putting the linen strip beneath her wrist, ready to knot it. "From the dwarves." He looked guilty. "I shouldn't have ripped it; it was a gift from the women of Orik's clan."

Arya dropped her head so that her smile was not visible. Eragon busied himself with tying it, gently but sufficiently tight. The knot stuck into her skin, but not too badly. "Thank-you."

"You're welcome." He looked down at where their swords were flung out in the dirt, then back up to Arya. "Are you all right, though?"

"Well, of course I am," replied Arya, slightly annoyed. She gave Eragon a curious glance. "Why?"

"I just ..." He had never seen Arya become so strong during a sparring contest: whatever she did, whether in a contest or real war – as far as he had seen – had always been cool and calmly thought-out. "Nothing."

"If you're not going to bandage that," said Arya, nodding at his hand, "then you should put some cold water on it to sooth the inflammation. There's a brook over there."

"Oh," said Eragon, surprised. Arya turned away from him, picked up her sword from the dust, wiped in carefully on her leg, and went to the left, into a clump of willows, a certain brittleness about her posture. Eragon blinked once, then followed her at a jog.

There was a tiny brook that formed a cold little forest pool filled with pine needles and moss around the edges. Arya stopped and sat down on a mossy log, mindless of the woodlice that were disturbed. "Just put it in there and it'll stop the swelling."

Eragon obediently squatted down and plunged his hand up to his wrist in the icy water. A cloud of mud and brown leaves billowed up, but he kept it there anyway. A water boatman paddled away hurriedly. Arya stared away over to a mossy willow tree, and Eragon kept his hand in the water, patiently waiting for her return to the present as he reflected on the oddness of the whole situation.

"If you leave it in there any longer the dragonfly larvae will have a feast," she said eventually. Eragon wiped his hand on his sleeve and raised his eyebrows.

"Dragonfly larvae?"

"The ones that look like Nagra with antennae," replied Arya. Eragon stared back at the water.

"They sound charming," he said off-handedly. To his surprise, Arya smiled.

"They frightened Niduen when she was small, so I would catch them and put them in a different pool."

"Oh." Eragon could scarcely imagine the caring little child-Arya who had saved her friend from the things she was scared of; he wished he could. "Are you all right?" he asked quickly, because a wistful look had come over Arya's face; perhaps, she , too, was remembering her childhood.

"Yes, fine." She paused and pulled her knees up to her chest; Eragon flushed and wished the water had been a bit colder. Every time he thought he had managed to get his feelings for Arya under control, she would go and do something so natural, and all his carefully-arranged feelings would fall out of place. It wreaked havoc with his mind.

"I've been thinking," he said quickly and awkwardly. "I don't know how to properly teach you, like Oromis did, but ... Oromis started by asking me about everything he could think of. May I have your leave to do the same?"

Arya's looked surprised from where her face was hidden by her felt-clad knees. "Well, of course. But you don't need my permission. You are my master, now."

Eragon rubbed his chin uncomfortably. "Not like Oromis was to me, I am not. I could never be, whatever might be said."

Arya looked almost exasperated. She pressed her lips together and stared at him. "You could be, I know you could."

"Could what?" His eyes were vacant.

Arya sighed inside and said none too patiently, "Be an excellent teacher."

"Perhaps. I hope so." Eragon snapped a small twig in two, and looked agitated. "It's very kind of you to say so."

Arya felt sure that they had had this conversation before. "'Tis the truth, whether you believe me or not."

"No, I know you tell the truth." With an effort, Eragon pulled himself back to the present. "I suppose it's silly to ask you about botany?"

"My mother and Oromis taught me a lot when I was smaller, and I learnt about poisons and antidotes when I started to learn magic ..."

Eragon dredged up every subject he could think of, from plants and animal biology to weather patterns and storms. Arya answered them perfectly; she had certainly been well taught. There was only one thing that her teacher of seventy years ago had not had her do.

"Cook?" said Arya dubiously. "Why would I want to do that?"

"Oromis had me do it, he said it helps refine your magic to a minute detail."

"Well, I never heard that," she said. "I dare say it was thought below me to learn to cook."

"Oh," said Eragon, relieved, and smiled. "It's not that hard. Tastes better by hand, though."

Saphira snorted and said to Arya, _Eragon learnt the hard way. His first tried resulted in charred messes. _

Arya glanced at Eragon. He was in the middle of rolling his eyes at Saphira. _I'm sure mine won't be much better._

_Probably it will. Eragon does not have a knack with food._

"Yes, well," said Eragon said testily, "at least it's edible."

Arya smiled with great amusement.

_There is that_, said Saphira graciously. _And I suppose Roran and Katrina put up with it for a long while._

_Obviously more polite than you, then, aren't they? _said Eragon quickly, but only to Saphira.

_You're very grumpy._

_So are you. _

Saphira sighed, and broadcast this feeling to every one, as well as Eridor. _I'm also hungry._

"So am I," said Eragon out loud. Arya had been listening to them with a laugh hidden about her mouth.

"Is this to be my first lesson as a Rider, then?" she asked; Eragon saw a surprisingly humorous glint in her eyes.

"No, I think I will make food, and show you how to do it – and tomorrow, your turn."

"I look forward to it," she said, but looked doubtful. "But are you going to eat the moss?"

Eragon grinned. "Your choice. Whatever you feel like eating."

Arya looked doubtful. "Can you do that?" she asked as delicately as she could.

"Yes; as long as it doesn't have mushrooms. Mushrooms don't cook well with magic."

"All right, then; no mushrooms. Carrots?" she ventured cautiously.

"Carrots ... fine."

_I'm going to watch this, after we have eaten, _Saphira said contentedly. _It ought to be _very_ amusing._

_--_

"I think I should try if first, in case it gives you food poisoning," Eragon said, eyeing the carrot soup he had made, which was bubbling innocently in its pot. Arya stared.

"I'm sure it won't," she said, amused.

"It might."

_It might, you know, Arya, _said Saphira with a tremor of laughter in her voice. _Best to be safe. _

Eridor stuck his head through the door of Arya's house. _Are you sure you want to eat all that? All the vegetables might upset your stomach. _

_Don't be rude, _Arya said. _I'm sure it won't poison me. _

"No," said Eragon cheerfully. "It's safe."

"Oh," said Arya bemusedly. "Good." She was hungry, too, and ate the soup with appreciation; Saphira had underestimated Eragon's cooking skills. Eridor watched her like a cat, but she didn't mind.

_What? _she asked finally. Eridor blinked.

_You look happy._

_What do you mean? _

_There is laughter in your face. _

Arya kept quiet and gazed at her now-empty bowl. She was unaware of Eragon's gaze upon her, shrewdly watching her and Eridor's movements. Was she always so emotionless that Eridor remarked upon it when she was smiling?

"_So gloomy, cousin ..."_

Arya scowled, but covered it up quickly. Niduen's words ran clear in her head. It was not she, Arya's, fault that life and fate had chosen to show her so many unpleasant things in her life, nor so many unpleasant experiences. And it was cruel to think of blocking them out and pretending they never happened.

_You can't let them rule you, either, you know, Arya._

Arya jumped. _Saphira?_

_I am sorry to intrude on your thoughts, but Eragon and I could feel them. _

_What? _said Arya in alarm. Had Eragon –?

_No, he closed his mind – _Arya breathed with relief at this – _but I could not help but hear. There are things that have happened to me and Eragon – in some ways more to Eragon, as a person – that we would both like to forget. _Saphira paused. _See this. _

She filtered through to Arya's mind a quick flash of memories, of a pile of human bodies standing in the middle of a deserted village; and two men about to be set upon by two huge brutes of Urgals. Arya recoiled in horror; she held memories much similar to these; they struck terrible chords with her.

_That was Yazuac, _Saphira said softly. _It was our first experience of true death, of Galbatorix's spite. Sometimes it creeps up on us, unawares. We can't push it away. But Eragon and I have so many other thoughts like that, that to dwell on them all the time would hurt us immeasurably. We don't dishonour the dead by trying to forget; still, thinking too much on it hurts **too** much._

_You are so strong of mind that I doubt you do either, but when the feelings and pain become too much, as sometimes happens, Eridor will listen, you know he will. _

_I know, Saphira._

_So will Eragon, and so will I. Don't feel alone, when ones who care about you are so close by. _

Arya felt a lump in her throat, an unfamiliar but recognisable thing. _I ... please do not be offended, Saphira ... I know you care about me. I know that Eragon does too, but it is not right, and I don't wish to encourage anything that will upset the friendship we have. _

Saphira was silent a minute. _Eragon does not either. He values it more, his love for you scares him. He hides it well – do you not think?_

This conversation was starting to go above Arya. _Not love, _she said with difficulty, _just – and infatuation. It will go, he will love another better suited to him. _

_Ha! _Arya jumped again and hoped that Eragon had not seen. _Ha!_ Saphira exclaimed. _You say infatuation, but it has not died. He loves you – what exactly that means to you elves, I am not completely sure, but know that Eragon, by the standards of his own people, loves you. Do not do him the disservice of thinking otherwise, for it would be thinking less of him; and that he cannot abide. _

Arya stood up, feeling disorientated. She did not feel she could continue this highly unusual and uncomfortable conversation. Glancing out at the sun, she found that it was just past mid-point.

"Excuse me," she said to Eragon, meaning Saphira as well. "But Council will start in but half an hour, and I wish to be there before the Lords and Ladies."

"Oh," said Eragon looking surprised. "Very well. If we meet on the training grounds again tomorrow, will that be acceptable to you?"

"Yes, perfectly." Arya glanced down at her dish and was surprised to find it empty; it _had_ tasted good. "I will see you both tomorrow, then."

"Goodbye, Arya." Eragon smiled, but as she turned away to go the door his face creased in a frown.

_What happened, Saphira? _

Saphira hesitated. _I must think on it; I will tell you later._

_It was nothing offensive? Because ... _Eragon looked incredulously after the departing Arya, _... Arya just dismissed herself from her own home! _

Arya herself was halfway across Tialdari Hall when she realised that she had left Eragon in her house. How foolish! What he must he be thinking of? He must have noticed her conversation with Saphira. It made the lump in her throat more pronounced.

But, though she tried, she could not will herself to go back that day.

She hated herself for it.

--

It's late and I don't have time to edit it, and I have to be up early, and I'm tired, and I lovew writing this, and I love BOSTON! Being tired makes me random.

But I miss him! I just want kiss his big, whiskery nose/chin/face. He's been _clipped_! Haha!

I need to SLEEP!

I _really_ have to go or I never will. .

One more thing. I may - MAY - be able to get one of my picturesd of Eridor and Arya up on the internet. If I do, I tell you in the next chapter,. and you can jdge my drawing.

It's not the Best. I'm learning.

Now I'm really going to sleep. I swear.

Nighty-night!

(I'm actually IN my nightie. Lol.

--


	40. Dreams and Weapons

It's Christmas, and I need sleep. READ AND ENJOY! And THANKS TO THE REVIEWERS, WHO ARE GREAT!!

Chapter Forty.

Dreams and Weapons.

**In his hand was a sword, and a pale light shone on the red blade. The pigeon-egg rubies glimmered and the sculpted hilt caught the light. The power coursed through his arm, through his body until seemed to reach his very heart, the hub of his humanity. **

**It pulled at his mind, the strength, the unyielding metal, the many-folded spells of strength and longevity. He lifted the sword high into air and brought it sweeping about in a perfect arch; it came whistling through the air and neatly cleaved in two the anvil on which it had been made. He had the satisfaction of seeing the elven under-smith blanch in anger and shock. **

**All would bend to their might, from now. They would hear his opinions and be respectful. They would see his power, and be humble. They would serve him, and accept his overlord-ship. **

**He was Morzan, and this sword was Za'roc. **

Eragon gasped, retching for air, a vile taste in his mouth and bile in his throat. Sweat ran down his face and into his eyes. _Hell! _

Za'roc, it had been Za'roc, in his hand again, that graceful flawlessness running though him, and its beauty as bewitching as always.

_Eragon, what is it, what was it? I felt your mind, it cried out ..._

_It was Za'roc! _Eragon exclaimed. _In my hand again, all that power in my grasp ... _

Saphira's mind flickered uneasily. _Za'roc was just a sword – a sword I first approved of, but ... only a weapon. _

_It was more than that. It was perfect, the last of its kind. _Allthe times he and Brom and Vanir and even Arya had sparred together came flooding back, when the sword in his hand was red, not dull steel or intense blue.

_Not the last of its kind! _Saphira pawed agitatedly at her cup-shaped bed. _Daiithil, what about Daiithil? Your father's sword, your legacy and your inheritance? How can you regret the theft of Za'roc?_

_I ... I do not regret it, _began Eragon distractedly. _No, that is not true – I regret the nature of its theft and I despise myself for not being able to prevent it._

_I could not prevent him either, little one. We were always going to lose, whether we were fresh or exhausted. The rules of war have been corrupted for Murtagh and Galbatorix._

_You're right ... as always. There was ... _Eragon struggled to remember the dream. _An elf. There was an elf, and he stared at me, because I had smashed his tools. _He felt a surge of alarm and threw the blankets away. _Was it me? Did I hurt the elf, or did I steal the sword back from Murtagh – was it a premonition? Do I –?!_

Saphira puffed a breath of smoke from her nostrils comfortingly. _I do not think so. You would never do that. And there is no way that you could get Za'roc back; that weapon is trouble and its history is bloody. Do not dwell on it, little one. _

_Are you sure? Remember when Brom gave us Za'roc, you touched it and it rippled like water, and I kept lifting it and examining it, because I had never seen anything like it. That was a strange feeling ..._

_Oh, but it was anger that was in your dream. I could feel it. _

Eragon sank back onto the bed and crossed his arms against the chill on his bare chest. _I'd never held it before; I'd been waiting, and when the smiths finally told me, I hurried there, Once I had it, I knew that no one could stop me, because this was MY sword, my own. _

Saphira stared at the other side of the room for a moment. _You understand it too well, especially for one who has never felt such anger in his life. It can't be your dream._

_I can't be dreaming anyone else's dream, can I? _Eragon said irritably.

_You can, now, _Saphira said slowly. _Brom told us that to take the Souls would be hard. _

_The Vault?! You think I am ...emulating their thoughts? _Eragon shuddered; the thought was disgusting.

_Perhaps. You could not have thought like that, even in your dreams. _

_Why does it happen? Brom would not have –_

_Perhaps Brom cannot stop it. _

_Kuthian, then – _

_We don't know Kuthian as we knew Brom! And we know nothing about him._

_He was good and kind to us._

_As kind as dead person can be! _

_At least when he was alive, he was a human. _

_Yes, and so was Galbatorix, the Forsworn, even Morzan! _

_I – _Eragon stopped, caught short. _Morzan!_

_Yes, Morzan, _replied Saphira testily. _What about him, the traitorous worm?_

_Morzan – in my dream, I was Morzan. He was the first to wield Za'roc, and he had been waiting so long for it ... _

_Morzan is not in the Vault, _Saphira said heatedly. _He got eternal rest, when others infinitely more noble than him are left to rot in there._

_But he was Brom's friend, Brom ... Brom adored him_, Eragon said grudgingly; the words tasted bad in his mouth.

_Brom would have been there when Morzan got his sword, _said Saphira carefully. _So, yes, we can make some connection. Little sense, though._

_I know. _Eragon stood up and made his way across the room. _I am going to wash. _The sweat that had been so hot and feverish and had cooled quickly; he shivered. Saphira sighed and closed her eyes again. She knew perfectly well he was going to mull over that dream, Morzan's thoughts and the Vault of Souls until morning and probably on into the day.

She was not wrong.

--

_Carrots ... _Eridor chuckled under his breath as he enjoyed a fat squirrel. _How do Eragon and Arya put up with it? Carrots ... all that fibre and liquid ... ha. _The squirrel was particularly fat, and had eaten just the right amount of all the right foods. He was rather proud of himself for catching it, because fat as it was it had put up a good chase.

A familiar thud in the pressure of the air beat through the air. Eridor put the last bit of squirrel back down on the ground, and waited for Saphira to alight, with all of the grace she normally displayed.

_Hello, Eridor! _she said, flaring her wings before settling them down on by her side and padding over to him. _What did you catch? I only took Eragon's seed-cakes this morning. _

_A squirrel. He was very fat and had had entirely too much to eat. _

_Is that all? _

Eridor flexed his claws. _I did not want to go far from the city today, and I ate well yesterday. _

_Oh. _Saphira settled down on the leaves. _Why? Is Arya not well? _

_Oh, no, she is fine in herself, but she is ... _Eridor paused for the beat of a mouse's heart; he knew Arya was private, even to Saphira, whom he considered almost as even to his affections as Arya; Arya would not like Saphira (as an extension of Eragon) to know she was nervous about cooking with magic. _She is ... agitated. _

_I see. _Saphira eyes, larger than his and higher up – a reminder of the difference between them, glittered as she peered at him. _Eragon is, too. He had a most disturbing dream, almost like a premonition, but more vivid and far more scary. _

Eridor himself felt disturbed: here was Saphira, telling about Eragon's _dreams_, and he could not – or would not – speak to her of Arya's own troubles. The secrecy made his spine quiver with annoyance. Saphira felt it.

_What's wrong?_

_Elves. Elves, carrots, secrets ... how would you say 'secrets' in the common tongue? _

Saphira blinked; Eridor's circles of thoughts were often hard to interpret. She answered his question. '_See-crits' it is pronounced. Where do carrots come in, though? I don't understand you._

_Well, Eragon made carrot soup yesterday._

_And it annoyed you **that** much? _

_No – Arya. _

_What, did she get a stomach bug? If she did, I promise, Eragon shall never cook again – _

_No, she didn't; she enjoyed it. It was nice, even though it did come from underneath the ground._

_Eridor, _Saphira said with superb patience, _I still can't understand what you mean._

_No, I cannot, either. I mean that ... when I see Arya's thoughts or her memories, they are so full of whispered secrets, hinted-at intentions and so many dark, shady wisps of thought. Surely, it is only being with these quite, subtle elves that does it?_

_Oh, well, _said Saphira thoughtfully, picking at a slight bit of dirt on her front leg, _I suppose it goes both ways. Arya is clever, and her mind works fast; and yes, she is subtle. But being bonded to a human means you get far more nights spent alone outside a town while your Ride gets very ill in a tavern. Arya won't, I promise you. _

_Eragon?_ Eridor would have a raised a bony eyebrow. _In a tavern?_

_Yes. Getting very drunk._ Saphira quickly bit down her amusement at Eridor's scepticism. _Are you surprised?_

_Yes, actually. Eragon seems very ... well ... he's not exactly a ... a _Eridor searched for word. _He's aristocratic enough, though, don't you think? _

_Maybe – I mean – Eridor ... _Saphira stretched her claws outwards._ Aristocratic? Sensible I hope we are, but we cannot compete with Arya for being aristocratic._

_Not true. _Eridor sounded like a trickster laying down his best cards. _Arya likes it when Eragon is in court, as when the dove from the elf fortress came._

_Really?_

_I can tell; she thinks there might a disturbance, and she looks out for it. It amuses her. I don't think she likes court very much. She does it because it is duty. Also, Eragon talks bluntly, I have heard._

Saphira felt her own prickle of amusement at the thought of the elven princess waiting for her court to be disrupted by a human. _I shall tell Eragon to go to court more often, to give Arya something to laugh about._

Eridor made a faint-hearted reply, troubled. '_Give Arya something to laugh about.' _That was not good. Arya had a sense of humour; it was well-suppressed and emerged rarely in the presence of others, but it was there. In fact, perhaps, it was not just hidden. Perhaps it was ...

Eridor entered a very difficult, unpleasant train of thought. Arya didn't use her sense of humour. She thought she didn't need to. But, in truth, it was that it had been _bred_ out of her. Kicked away by various persons when she was younger. And now Arya was scared of it. Scared that it would reveal her feelings, her thoughts ... or her way of life.

_The elves are so polite, but Arya's not as ... as ..._

_I know what you mean, _agreed Saphira. _I suppose spending so much time away from home must have changed her more than a little. _

_I suppose so._

_You don't have to do anything Arya would be uncomfortable with, Eridor, _said Saphira after a pause. _I took far longer to learn to talk and communicate than you have done, because Eragon was the only person who talked to me. Also, then it was a time of peace. We didn't know anything about the war. It was relaxed and we did not have to get to know each other under the shadow of war, as you and Arya have done. Please give her time._

_I will. _Eridor glanced at Saphira, but he looked away; he could not decipher the feeling that had crept into his stomach, and did not know what she would read there, this female that had been at his hatching.

_And please have faith in our teaching skills. At least I can't poison you, anyway, whatever Eragon is doing to Arya._

Finally Eridor relaxed and chuckled. _Yes, that is lucky. Where are they?_

_Arya's house. Eragon is probably not all-there; he worried for four hours until dawn over that dream, and half an hour of that was in the water closet. _

_Arya likes the water closet too. She spends a lot time in there. All that water. _Eridor sniffed disapprovingly. Saphira surveyed him through half-closed eyes.

_They pickle eggs like that in the Varden._

_Pickle eggs ... Urgh. I know 'tis rude, but I wonder why they insist on ruining perfectly good food?_

_Ahh, you should meet Angela and Solembum. Now she, she can use one mushroom for three different purposes, and still find it possible to eat meat ... _The conversation continued amicably as Saphira and Eridor wended their way back into the city's boundaries. It was a pleasurable talk, and Saphira liked Eridor's company very much. But there, in the back of her mind was the small, nagging sensation that something was not right; was, in fact, very, very wrong.

--

Eragon walked along the neat flowerbeds of Tialdari Hall, not noticing the riot of flowers that were blooming despite the cold. The dream from the morning still bothered him, like a fly buzzing around a cow's ear. The power that had ran through his – no, Morzan's – veins had been frightening, for never had he experienced such a feeling. Raw hatred, a burning for recognition.

If Eragon had not been in the most beautiful place in Ellesmera, he would have turned and spat on the ground: he had sometimes wondered how Morzan would ever have even contemplated betraying the Riders, and worse, killing them. But he would wonder no more.

_What a piece of filth._

As if in imitation of the dream, a burning anger flared in him. He thought, for a moment, that if Morzan was alive, he would have no chance, no escape from him and Saphira. They would hunt him down and –

But no. Brom, his father, his own flesh and blood, had killed him, well and truly, without the aid of a dragon. Eragon felt in the back of his mind that he could not do as well as his father had. And of course, he, Eragon, would have to exchange blows and probably kill the new owner of Za'roc.

Eragon pushed his anger down, so that it simmered below his thoughts. He glanced up at the sky, and, seeing that it was almost past the time designated for their sparring match, he buckled his sword on tighter, and ran quickly and lightly to the training grounds.

--

Eragon very much wanted to pour all his strength and sudden, inexplicable anger into his sword, into every blow he delivered. But he pushed it down, he suppressed it and made his decisions as coolly as possible. Still, it seemed that Arya was slightly alarmed by the look on his face. Her eyes kept flickering back to his when their movements brought them closer.

Daiithil seemed to have a life of its own; where he chose to send it, it did not seem to land; and yet the duel continued for at least an hour. Still, it as no surprise when Arya dodged past his guard and held the quivering the silver sword to his neck.

"Beaten," Eragon said ruefully. "I apologise for my lack of talent."

Arya stepped and busied herself with taking the block from her sword. "That's all right." She paused and glanced up briefly. "You seem distracted."

Eragon hesitated. The horror of the Vault of Souls was still fresh in his mind, his father's imprisonment something he thought on long after dark. Arya didn't know how Galbatorix used it; she didn't know why freak weather storms were destroying the country; he felt, somehow, that to tell her would be adding a cruel burden to her, so he and Saphira had decided to wait. Wait until they had completed their training, at least. But neither could he hide his suspicions from her.

"I had a ... dream last night." He saw Arya's hand stiffen on her sword-belt. "It was very vivid. I ... I dreamt I was Morzan." Arya's face blanched, almost inconspicuously, but Eragon saw it: it made him feel even worse. "Za'roc was in my hand again. I brought it around in an arc and broke the elven anvil in two; I sort of ..." Eragon trailed off, spreading his arms hopelessly. "I really thought it was Za'roc again, I could feel it in my hand, the tear-drop pommel and all."

Arya narrowed her eyes. "A dream? Not a premonition?"

"I don't think so. It was more as if I was Morzan, whereas if it had been a premonition, I think it would have been visible from another point of view."

Arya pretended to be unhooking a part of her sleeve from the hilt of her sword, but she looked at him beneath her eyelashes with intensity. She had known Eragon since the first time he touched her mind after Gil'ead. She had travelled through the Beors, Du Weldenvarden and the Empire with him. She knew the shifts of his expression and his ways.

_He's lying,_ she said to Eridor without letting it show on her face.

_What do you mean?_

_He's become good at concealing his thoughts, but not as good as most elves. He's worried about what it means._

_Say something, then._

_I haven't been struck dumb, you know, _Arya said sharply. _I don't know what you mean._

_If he's worried, alleviate it!_

_I'm not going to lie!_ Arya shot back quickly.

_I never said anything about lying, _Eridor replied, unperturbed. _You know more about ... Morzan than I do._

Arya made a quiet curse. _Yes, I do, damn him._ She ignored Eridor's faintly amused feeling at her choice of words. _Yes, all right, Eridor. I understand. _

Arya debated with herself quickly. It was not, and had never been her job, to give comfort. Her job for the Varden and for her country was to fight, to make good alliances and be a careful diplomat. No one in her time as ambassador had been foolish enough to confide any sort of personal feelings with her, and she had not wanted to hear them.

That did, of course, exclude Eragon and Eridor, though through no decision of her own. Anything that was uncomfortable for her, Eridor wanted to know about. Anything unusual that Eragon was concerned about, he did not seem to mind freely discussing it with her. If Eridor disagreed with something she said or did, he was not silent. If she said something Eragon did not understand, Eragon asked with little hesitancy. This thought blossomed inside her, like the roses by Niduen's window, and bit the inside of her mouth to stop herself smiling altogether too-fondly at both of them.

"Tell me more about it."

Eragon stared for a short second at her, and then started to speak; but a large of group of elves, too young and inexperienced to go with Islanzadi to war, came clattering past with bows and swords in their hands.

"But somewhere quieter, I think." Arya glanced about. Saphira and Eridor were attracting a fair amount of attention at the edges of the training field. "Tialdari Hall, perhaps. Now that most have gone to war, it is more silent than ever."

Eragon agreed quietly, because he saw the brief flicker of sadness in her eyes. "Does Eridor wish to come as well?" he enquired politely.

Arya asked Eridor quickly – their communication was becoming quicker and easier, and much more natural at a pace that surprised both Eragon and Arya – and got a firm 'no'.

"No, he is not." She glanced at the crowd around the dragons and was disturbed to feel a slight stab of jealousy. "He enjoys talking to so many people, it helps vocabulary and speech."

Eragon smiled. "Saphira is enjoying herself, too. I think we will have to walk."

"Yes." Arya finally dropped her hand from the pommel of her sword and started walking, quickly, waiting for Eragon to catch up. But he didn't. He followed her, unhurriedly, and when they arrived by the gates of the Hall, she had to wait back for him. Her pity for Eragon's worry over his dream was becoming distinctly less. Why was he hanging back, lounging like the half-baked prison-guards in the Dras Leona gaol –?

But as he came up equal with her, the irritated thoughts faded. Of course he was no lazy warder, but Eragon, walking as straight and tall as he always had. He still said nothing, and Arya knew, of course, that it was dream that was still bothering him.

It was a quiet, leafy tunnel, made with the branches of willow trees intertwined. A small, brown brook trickled down the side. There was no sign of any other elf, nor any sound but a loud family of crows in the highest reaches. Arya stopped and looked at Eragon. "So. Explain to me why you are so worried."

Eragon looked at her narrowly; he had never mentioned being worried. "It was too vivid to be normal. I ... I swear, by Thor's Red Hammer, Arya, that _**I**_ was Morzan." He paused. "The first time I held Za'roc I could feel something, yes, but not like in this dream! Greed and anger, and so much _hate_... all he wanted to do was be dominant, to be ..." Eragon rubbed his chin. "I can't explain it."

Arya's lips thinned and she stared away from Eragon – it was harder now, because he was at least an inch taller – at a clump of young pussy-willows. "Morzan died before you were born. But I saw him in battle, I was in Tarnag with the Clans when he and his friends killed every man, woman and child they saw and destroyed the dwarves' way of life, their crops and herds all just for sport."

Her nostrils flared. "I saw the red dragon carry a screaming child to the top of the Citadel and drop it into the river for fun; I saw a yellow dragon rip a man's head off and take it home as a trophy, home to the city that rightfully belongs to _my_ people!" Arya turned to him, eyes blazing with a passion he had never seen in her before.

"Bullies. Cowards given too much power, too much fortune. All they wanted was dominance over everyone else, and they got it." A strange look of pride and sorrow came into her face, but she held it higher and prouder. "The deaths they had were too good for them. Still, I remember what Brom did. He no longer had the help of a dragon, but he killed Morzan anyway. But that – that dream of yours, whatever it was, it was not yours, nor was it your future. I have known you for many moons and I know you are incapable of such selfishness."

"How can you know?" Eragon asked quietly. Arya's hands clenched.

"I know you, and that is enough. Do not dwell on it; it would be foolish and useless."

Eragon hid a small smile; she was very abrupt today, as if her guard was relaxing. That, he did not understand for they were, after all, speaking about a cruel and horrible things; but her eyes, alight with that fire, were a sight to see, and Eragon was not sorry. There was a pause in which Arya became interested in the willows again. "You fought the Forsworn?" he asked eventually, but quietly.

"I never personally traded blows with them," Arya said distantly. "It was not for lack of trying, but my guards would always stop me. They were cruel monsters, those thirteen. I knew one of them had killed my father, and I dreamt of revenge for a long time."

"You are not the only one," Eragon said darkly. "Saphira and I were recently discussing how we would have liked Morzan to die."

Arya breathed in, in what was almost a snort. "I find it hard to believe, Eragon, that he is your blood-father. You have inherited nothing from him, not even your looks, let alone any of his personality."

"Thank-you," Eragon said distantly. _I think I should tell her about Brom. I cannot keep pretending. Do you think so?_

_You must do what you think best, Eragon. He was **your **father._

_Yes,_ said Eragon sadly. _I suppose so._

He took a deep breath, clutching tightly in his hand the little wooden hunting knife. "I have inherited none of Morzan's looks because ... he was not my father."

Eragon chanced a glance at Arya. She was looking at him with a slight wary expression; clearly she thought he was in late denial or something of the sort. "How can that be?" she said cautiously.

"Murtagh thought I was his brother, he believed it, so he ... he could tell me so in the ancient language. But he was wrong. So was Galbatorix. He did not know my mother so well, I think."

Now Arya's eyes were fixed on him, but he couldn't quite meet them; it felt, bizarrely, like a betrayal. "Saphira who my father really was, long before we even came to Farthen Dur, before we killed Durza. She told Oromis, and Oromis told me the day after we arrived.

"My father was ... Brom." Arya stopped dead. "He met my mother in Teirm," he blurted out hurriedly, "after Morzan was killed, and they travelled together for a while, until – until –" he trailed of, feeling slightly desperate, trying to make Arya understand why he had said nothing, trying to explain –

"Brom," she said quietly. "Brom is your father." Eragon looked at her now, and she stared at him. "Of course. I should have realised – I spent so much time with him."

"I am sorry that I kept it from you," he said tensely, expecting a cool rebuttal. "We didn't know what to do, and somehow, if the Black Hand in Surda had known, Galbatorix would have used it against us ..."

A tiny, grim smile played at Arya's mouth. "Precisely the reason Durza never found out I was Crown Princess." The smile left. "But I do not understand, Eragon. Your mother ...?"

Eragon sighed. "She ... my ... _they_ fell in love during their travels. She was unable to return to Uru'Baen, and ... and I suppose they were all on their own ..." Eragon felt light-headed. "But what about Murtagh, I never asked about Murtagh! He was ... only three, and Morzan was dead ... Our mother wasn't there, he would have been all on his own ..." Eragon trailed off with a growing horror, aware of the fact he had called Selena 'our' mother. Arya grabbed his elbow.

"Sit," she said firmly and directed him to a long, low willow lying on its side. "You do not have to tell me anything; it is for you, your life and your secrets."

"Oh, yes, I do," said Eragon emphatically. "I have not been telling the truth to you for a long time." Another deep breath. "My mother realised she was pregnant in Daret, where they were resting. Brom said he wasn't good enough to keep her and the child – I mean, _me –_ safe. So she went to Garrow, my uncle and waited until I was born."

He looked at Arya; her eyes were large and thoughtful, but her face showed nothing. "But she fell ill after the birth; it happens a lot, and she caught the fever that often comes with a child."

Arya's hand twitched on his elbow. Eragon did not even try to understand what it meant. "But she had word from Jeod, Brom's friend who found the way to steal Saphira's egg, that Brom was waiting for her in Teirm. She hurried there, only to find it was a trap: Galbatorix had her taken back to Uru'Baen."

There was a slight, dawning horror on Arya's face. "Did he ... hurt her?" she said in a low voice. Eragon half-shrugged, but, conscious of the white hand on his elbow, did not shake her off.

"Saphira didn't know, because Brom didn't tell her; all we know is that ..." Eragon paused, then continued doggedly on. "She was not killed then. She spent the last few months of her life with my brother ... half-brother ... Murtagh, before she died. Brom never found out any more than that; and he only knew of her death because a servant named Tornac told him. Tornac became Murtagh's servant. He was killed when Murtagh tried to escape the castle the first time."

Arya breathed a quick, shallow breath. "How do you know this?"

Eragon started to speak, but Saphira said quickly and abruptly to Arya, _Brom told me while Eragon was ... incapacitated ... He thought I would use this information wisely; I did the best I could: I told Oromis and Glaedr. Eragon only learnt of his father after we told your mother about the Burning Plains. I advised Eragon not to mention Morzan because I did not want his name blackened for no reason. _

Arya nodded and looked down at the mossy bark of the old tree. "I knew Brom very well, I think ... He would make a point of talking to me when we were in Farthen Dur and Ellesmera ... especially in Ellesmera ... he knew about my mother's oath to never have me in her presence again." Arya shook the thoughts of those terrible years away and smiled slightly. "He was much like you in that way."

Eragon could feel of her palm on his elbow most distinctly. "Did you ..." he stopped, head cocked. "Some one is coming."

Arya's hand tightened again on his arm; she could not have noticed it was still there. "Yes; I can hear it."

A faint shuffling of the fallen leaves was just audible. Arya and Eragon stood up, waiting. Then, after a long pause, a tall, white-robed figure emerged from behind the wall of green willows. The white hair was cut jaggedly to her chin and she moved with quick, precise movements.

"Rhunon," breathed Arya. "Why is she here?"

Eragon shook his head. He had rarely seen Rhunon away from her smithy, where the forge glowed all day and night. But before he could say anything else, Rhunon had seen them. She did not hurry, and her steps were careful, but Eragon and Arya stood as if frozen: the subject of Brom had not been exhausted and it been talked about in quiet voices; it was an unacknowledged secret. An uneasy feeling in the back of both minds was suggesting that Rhunon had heard.

"Rhunon-elda," said Arya carefully. "Atra esterni ono thelduin." She pressed her two fingers to her lips. Rhunon looked unimpressed. Her finely-lined face was hard.

"I have told you times beyond measure that your pleasantries are pointless; after seventy years living with the humans and you have not learnt a thing from them," she said sharply.

If Rhunon's face was hard, Arya's was blank. "What brings you here, Rhunon? 'Tis not often I see you away from your forge."

Rhunon did not answer immediately. "I have found that my work ... my work no longer has the same joy it once had; it is ... pointless, aimless wandering. I can no longer march with an army, and so I stay here, making trinkets for my own enjoyment."

Arya's expressionless face dropped; a look of true concern appeared on her face. "You have always been this way, Rhunon; you took that ... vow before I was even born."

"The vow. Yes ..." a shrewdness dawned in Rhunon's quick, sharp eyes. "Yes, I took my vow so that none of my weapons, my beautiful creations would be used for such monstrous uses as the Forsworn did." She stared hard at Eragon. "But then, Za'roc appeared again! And I was glad, because I had missed them. And then I learnt but a few months ago that you, Rider, had lost it.

"I have been wanting to talk to you for a long while, Eragon Shadeslayer. I feel that the story you told the queen was as full as you would have her believe."

"Eragon has committed no crime," Arya said quickly. "Everything possible has been done to protect all of us in the resistance against Galbatorix."

"Hm. Yes," she said to Arya. "You are a Rider, aren't you? Strange, but I have not seen your dragon close-to. I wished to compare him to Saphira Bjartskular, to see if his colour would make the same beautiful blade she would."

"Eridor's colour and spirit can not be matched ... save perhaps by Saphira herself," Arya said a trifle too quickly. She heard Eragon bring his hand to mouth to muffle what she was sure was a chuckle.

"Yes, well ... you have to come and bring him to see me. I know that I cannot make a sword for you, child, but I may be able to do ... something else."

"Yes, Rhunon," said Arya, nodding so that her shook softly, "we will come."

"Good." Her eyes gleamed and she looked at Eragon. "You still keep that rough human sword, then?"

"I ..." Eragon glanced at Arya, and the hand still on his elbow. She stared back at him, betraying nothing. "I ... well, no, Rhunon ... I fight with this." He took Daiithil from hid belt and held it before her.

The thin, brittle stiffened in the white tunic; the deep, dark eyes that had once watched Korgan, Master Smith of the dwarves, widened. The work-worn hands trembled a she reached out to touch the shining blue.

"Daiithil ..." Rhunon ran her hands over the hammered silver hand-guard, over the jewel in the pommel and the dragon coiling about the hilt. Her weathered face, that had not long ago looked so old, was lit by a new fire.

"My Daiithil ... Shadeslayer, I forged this blade over a hundred years ago! It vanished in the slaughter at Doru Areaba – how can you have it?! Why, Brom of Kuasta himself begged to make another for him, but Daiithil was his only sword, and my vow had already been done ..." Sharp, sharp features hardened. "How did it come into your possession, Rider?"

"I ... inherited it. From my father."

"Speak plainer; the only master this sword had was Brom. It was made to his dragon's colour."

"Brom was my father. He left in someone's charge for me, and I claimed it as my own but a few months ago." Eragon waited for the reaction, and questions.

"Brom ... he always was a close man; it was impossible to tell what he was thinking." She caught his gaze and held it. "It is good he had a child: his bravery will not go wasted ... if you have inherited it."

Eragon did not know what to say. Arya gave a faint lifting of her lips to Rhunon. "He has, of course he has. You will see for yourself, Rhunon."

"Perhaps I will." her gaze drifted over the both of them standing side by side, then to Arya's hand that rested on his elbow. Too late Arya stepped back and withdrew it. "You bring that dragon of yours to me, Arya. I think it will give me scope once more ... Farewell."

Rhunon did not say anything flowery or eloquent, but she nodded, once. Arya watched her retreat with genuine fondness. Eragon frowned.

"She did not sound surprised about Brom."

Arya folded her arms. "When you get to Rhunon's age, few things are true surprises."

"Perhaps."

"So," Arya said, after a long pause, "what will you teach me today?"

"I don't know ..." Eragon shifted his weight onto his other foot. "I am sorry that it must be like this for you and Eridor. War is upon us, and you must train quicker and harder even than Saphira and I did."

"We don't mind; we can work. We have less to learn; you said so yourself."

"Yes, I know ... Eridor must also be ready for war – soon. But it is impossible."

Arya narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Perhaps .. Saphira and I will have to go before your training is finished, or before Eridor is large enough. Than what will happen? If we are killed ... the burden will fall to you both."

"_If_ you were killed, _if _you are called away. Do not worry so much, Eragon: it is irrational. We know what we must do, and we will do it."

Eragon looked at Arya with pride he tried to conceal. He had never quiet felt that way about Arya before. She returned his stare with an unreadable one of her own.

"We are doing this for ... everyone. Not just the Varden, and the elves, and the dwarves, but all the people in the Empire." Arya met Eragon's gaze, and knew he understood.

"Galbatorix must be brought to justice," he said quietly, nodding. "Of course. And we are the ones who must do it."

"Eridor and I can do it, Eragon, if you and Saphira can. We will train harder than I have ever before."

Eragon smiled at Arya, who returned a solemn, though not unhappy stare. "We will train, then, together?"

Her eyes blazed. "We will."

--

Well, it's Chritsmas Eve, and once again, I need sleep! Desperately. But I wish everyone a very, very Merry Christamas, and a Happy New Year! Thanks for sticking with me this long, I hope this one was OK;

Enjoy tomorrow! And those of you who are getting a white Christmas? All I can say is, you lucky things!

(I can't believe I'm saying this, lol) but love from Me, for what it's worth.

--


	41. Beliefs

Eh, this isn't very good. Rushed, I think, but it's late. Still - - CHAPTER 41, people! Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed, as usual! Also, the next chapter is mostly written down by hand (I'm about to read it my sisters for a bedtime story)

Enjoy!

Chapter Forty-One.

Beliefs.

A very small fire burnt amidst a clearing surrounded by birch saplings. A pile of grey goose feathers was put just away from the flames, and a row of long, straight birch-wood sticks. Eragon was examining the feathers painstakingly. Elven arrows had to be perfect; the fletching was made of finest grey goose feather; the tips were made of tiny opaque jewels that were taken from a mine close to where they were camping, and the shafts from birch wood.

Arya shifted slightly, and Eragon looked up as he reached for stone to make the glue on. Where once, only three or four months ago, the silence would have uncomfortable and filled uneasy feelings, it was quite peaceful: Arya even – though she did not know it and Eragon could barely see it – had a tiny smile curling the corners of her lips as she rubbed a small knot in the wood smooth.

Eragon blinked twice, though he was not really very surprised. The quiet was very soothing: he, Arya, Saphira and Eridor had had, in the last three weeks, little rest. Up with the sun, then the training fields after the Rimgar (Eragon, with help from Arya in a very taught atmosphere, could perform the last level about as well as she could) then whatever Eragon and Saphira could dredge up: history of the Riders, secrets to their weaponry, lores and legends that only Riders knew; stories that were taboo to the rest of Alagaesia.

Saphira and Eridor would often just stay close to wherever Eragon and Arya were talking; Eridor and Arya listened intently; they memorised everything; they did indeed work as hard as it was possible to do. But at least once a day Saphira and Eridor would fly together, either to the Stone of Broken eggs or one of the many haunts that Glaedr had taken Saphira herself. There Saphira would impart with Eridor the dragon lore that no human or elf was privy to, secrets of their race more ancient than the stone.

Every night the two Riders wended their separate ways back home to fall into bed as soon as possible, unless there were scrolls – such as dictionaries in the Urgal, dwarven and elven tongue for Eragon, and tales of the Riders for Arya – to be read before the morning. Then the cycle would start again: wash, eat, Rimgar, sword practice, target shooting every other day, then more scrolls, tales, techniques for adapting to Eridor, and often mock combat between the two dragons.

Really, though, it felt good to be truly tired, to feel as if he were doing something. He and Saphira were not unhappy and they had faced harder, more gruelling weeks than these with far less good food. He was not, however, so sure that Arya was content. He had once tried to ask her about it, but hadn't made that mistake again. The glares from Arya and bouts of laughter from Saphira were too much.

Eragon found himself smiling slightly at that memory; it truly had been the first time Arya had really let herself _look_ annoyed. He heard a knife scrape on a scabbard and looked up to see Arya prodding at the fire with a strong little dagger and scraping the ashes towards her.

"Are the feathers all right?"

"Yes, they're very strong. Can I borrow your dagger? My hunting knife is too wide."

Arya handed over the small silver dagger without a word, though they met eyes briefly and Arya's smile fluctuated. As Eragon turned back down to do the careful, precise job of splitting the feather away from the major part of the quill, but sighed inwardly. Sometimes, it was bothersome, the strange looks she gave him. He wasn't sure why she did: he surely did not look so odd, and he didn't do anything too shocking, but still on odd moments she would look at him in an unreadable but unusual way, and something would shift between them; and the rest of the day would be spent in rather uncomfortable companionship.

But this was something only Arya could do, and mostly Eragon didn't try to fathom it. Then Arya, at least seemed to be more comfortable.

Saphira chuckled. _You're supposed to be splitting those feathers, not day dreaming. _

_Yes, I know. But I have been doing this since I was fourteen, Saphira; not so much of a novelty now. Although, _said Eragon, pausing as he pulled the knife down the quill,_ I never made any so fine as this. Certainly not goose feathers. Turkey feathers mostly, remember?_ Eragon had once spent an entire afternoon with Saphira a little while after she learnt to speak making more arrows after the ones he had lost in the Spine.

_Oh, yes. Turkeys. They're very nice tasting birds, you know, _she told Eridor. He gave her a bright look from where he was looming over Arya's shoulder.

_Turkeys? The ugly birds?_

_Yes, those. They taste very good. _

_Saphira!_ exclaimed Eragon, shocked. _Where did you get a turkey? _Arya looked up and listened with a bemused expression to this conversation.

_Well, why does it matter?_

_Turkeys are _valuable!_ You didn't take them from some poor farmer, did you?_

_If I had, _she said with a tone that was positively glacial, _I would be less offended by that remark. _Arya blinked, and turned her gaze on Eragon, looking as if she was hiding immense amusement. _I did, in fact, catch it just outside the borders of _this _city. _

_All right, _said Eragon, showing her he meant it. _I apologise. You never caught anything you shouldn't have, did you?_

_That, _said Saphira, _is a matter opinion. It must be said that wherever we went, a few of Galbatorix's nice, tax-collecting animals disappeared. _

Eridor grinned wolfishly, but Arya laid down the stick she was holding and picked up another one hurriedly. He knew she was not particularly bothered by Eridor eating the meat she had never touched, but he decided it was not prudent and rather rude to prolong such talk in front of her.

"Did you see the weather coming in to-day?" he asked, and the subject was effectively changed. Saphira and Eridor, only an hour ago, had reported leaden grey clouds borne on an icy wind coming from the Beor mountains. Saphira turned to discuss this with Eridor, and the ways in which snow could be a menace.

Today was supposed to have a been fairly quiet day – the first in weeks – in which to replenish their stores of arrows (because Eragon had lost all of his in the Battle of the Burning Plains, and had not known how to go about getting more to fit the sung-wood bow Islanzadi had made for him) and to relax a little bit.

But Eridor had a burning thirst for any and all knowledge; and when this knowledge – as it normally was – consisted of something that Saphira was best qualified to answer, they came thick and fast. Eragon began to understand why Brom had chuckled so much during one of the interrogations Eragon, as a younger child, had put him through frequently.

As Arya passed him another stick ready to receive its fletching, Eragon remembered the exclamations that the few remaining elves in Ellesmera would utter as soon as either one or the other dragon appeared, though they were most rapturous if it was both. Arya was unperturbed by this – she was the one who had travelled with Saphira the first time in Du Weldenvarden – but Eragon felt that the elves, at least, had something over him, in that they, at least, had seen other dragons before the Fall. He, Eragon, had not been so lucky.

Still, it was easy to see why the elves were so taken: Saphira and Eridor were both bright, sparkling colours, their fangs, claws and spikes along their backs perfectly made and in proportion with the rest of them. When they breasted the trees and the sun (when there was any) shone on their scales, Eragon could see in them a small remainder of the splendour, pride and honour of the Riders of old. In fact, he knew that sometimes he did grin broadly at them, eliciting looks from Arya; but, of course, he felt she understood. How could she not, faced with their majesty and the love he knew she felt for Eridor?

Occasionally, Eragon would look at the size difference in Eridor and Saphira. Eridor, it had to be said, was scarcely two and a half months old, and Eragon could see that, like all young creatures such as cows and horses, he was skinny, and the bones that had long been hidden on Saphira were shown on him when he moved quickly.

Of course, Saphira had looked exactly like him; but then she had been unique, with nothing to live up to. Eragon didn't know if Eridor felt this at all, but hoped not: it would be utterly wretched. Eridor, however did not seem to display the ferocity that males (or so Eragon had read, for what other source would he have?) generally displayed. He had briefly discussed it with Saphira, though it had been short.

_He's just young. Were _you_ born grown up, Eragon?_

_Fine, fine. I get your point._

_Good. I'm hungry. _She'd launched herself out of the window straight away; it had only been a few days ago, but she'd been rather grumpy. Very grumpy, in fact, and Eragon had not tried to start any more conversations that she might find to be delicate subjects.

Still; Saphira had been perhaps a foot taller at the withers on that first nightmarish flight through the Spine without a saddle; Eragon repeatedly told Eridor and Arya that soon he would be able to lift her, then fly with her. Eragon was looking forward to this; he thought of fighting mock-battle against them, because the both of them were uninjured and capable of more than frail Oromis had been.

But Eridor had other ideas. Saphira knew that it would rip his muscles perhaps permanently if he did too much, (such as carrying Arya), too soon. But as Saphira thought but had not said, he was as stubborn as any other male, intelligent or otherwise.

_How will we be Riders if I cannot lift her? _one conversation had started. Eragon had looked at him uneasily.

_You know, the first time I rode Saphira it was without a saddle, and I resembled a flayed rat by the end of it. You must be patient Eridor._

_I know that._ Eridor had torn at the moss beneath his massive feet. He had said nothing more, but Eragon decided that it was his pride that hurt him more than anything. Saphira had proposed to Eragon that perhaps he should use his feet until Eridor was old enough –

_After all, I am not Snowfire_

- and Eragon had begun to reacquaint himself with Ellesmera's many paths and hidden roads.

The fire crackled and a log popped. Eragon jumped; the knife sprang away from the feather quill and scored a sharp line across his palm.

"Damn!"

He spat on it, rubbing the blood away, then inspected the cut. Arya's dagger was elven made, and, as such, was deadly sharp.

"What happened?" Arya leant over, putting down the birch shafts, and took his hand. She touched the long jagged line gently, and Eragon saw the pink, inflamed lines reaching deep into his palm. Arya lifted her hand and the silvery Gedwey Ignesia started to glow.

A hiss escaped Eragon's lips; he pulled his hand away and clenched it into a fist, relishing the stiffness of the cut. Arya's hair had brushed his face, and his heart had throbbed as he watched the Gedwey Ignesia glow: Arya had changed much in the few months since Eridor's hatching, but it only made Eragon love her all the more, a full, desperate love. He felt he hid it well, but at that moment it was too much to bear.

"I can do it," he said brusquely, saying the spell rather forcefully and not noticing the look of surprise that flashed across Arya's face. She gave him a long look from beneath her eyelashes, and then turned away to pick up the birch shafts again, and Eragon was left with a twinge of guilt in his stomach that would not go away.

--

The archery range was almost empty: a few very young elves, barely twenty summers, were polishing their small training bows at the foot of a large tree; only Eragon and Arya were using the straw targets and it was a sad reminder that most of the elven people were sitting in Gil'ead keep, awaiting a break in the weather so that they could join the Varden.

Eragon frowned. Only one dove had managed to arrive in Ellesmera since the one about the assassination attempt on Islanzadi's life and the poor creature had been half dead with cold and fatigue. The tiny scroll had said only that they were almost completely imprisoned: the Imperial forces had drawn back, unable to stand the cold, but the elves were, effectively, trapped.

Arya did not say a lot – very little in fact, and had pushed away any of Saphira's attempts to ask her about it – but Eragon wished she would. Although she was so much more open and prone to laughter on occasion, she did not speak about her mother. It never showed on her face, nor in her conversation, but it hung like an ominous cloud above them.

No snow had yet reached them, safe in Ellesmera, but the Varden were as deeply buried in huge drifts as the elves in Gil'ead were. It was quite clear to every race that was impossible to even think of marching on Uru'Baen: even the soldiers of the Empire were marooned in their barracks in the capital.

Every day that they trained, hours spent in honing their skills, sparring, target practice, mock-combat and laboriously learning the history of the Riders was spent in a kind of subdued suspense; both dragons and Riders knew that the Varden and Arya's own people needed them to fight, to negotiate between the two great armies and provide some protection against the King's forces.

Eragon shook off these thoughts – it was too easy to imagine disasters happening to the Varden, and Roran, and Katrina and all those valiant men and women – and looked at Arya. "Did your arrows fly well?"

"Well enough," she said, examining the last arrow before putting it in her quiver. "But even they are off-target slightly it will not matter in battle." There was a slight shadow in her eyes. "A man is a wide target, after all."

"I suppose so," said Eragon quietly, hating the reminder that life was not always as secluded as his was at the moment. "I suppose the Gods will have to guide our weapons, then," he said with a hint of irony. Arya looked startled; he did not often mention anything to do with religion.

"Do they normally?"

Eragon looked faintly sheepish. "Perhaps. The dwarven God of War is Guntera, isn't it?"

"Yes." Arya made a faint sigh, her hand lightly touching the hilt of her sword. He knew she was probably running over in her mind all the faults she found with the dwarven religion. "And he possesses more wealth than the Varden has ever done."

Eragon carefully unstrung his bow, uncertain of what to say. He did not truly swear by any religion, but the Dwarven language provided some interesting curses; and he had been raised to believe in various all-powerful beings. "Wealth will not do the Varden a lot of good now, being where they are."

Arya's arched brows contracted briefly. "It would have saved many things in past, though."

It was Eragon's turn to sigh; he knew truly now what his guard Shrrgnien had meant by 'Elves are like wolves: they never forget'. Arya knew all the old grievances that her people had had against the dwarves, the dragons, and the humans and she remembered them.

_What is Guntera? _Said Eridor suddenly, arriving with Saphira from their hunting trip.

_He is a dwarven God, Eridor._

_Dwarves, _said Eridor thoughtfully. _They ride the Feldunost._

Saphira snorted._ They are strange creatures,_ she said absently, _but I expect they would make good hunting. _

_The dwarves have plenty of other Gods,_ said Eragon hurriedly, foreseeing another long, drawn-out conversation over the merits of hunting various animals, _and one of them, the dwarves claim_, he said, thinking quickly, _created the dragons. _

Eridor stared at Eragon in disbelief . _Surely it would take far too much energy to __**make**__ a race?_

Eragon grinned. _They are Gods, Eridor: they can do anything._

Arya tossed her head. _They do not exist. _

_It is possible, _said Eragon with a ripple of mild indignation.

Arya raised an eyebrow. "Though unlikely."

"The priest Gannel believed in them," said Eragon, "though many things he said could not have been real." Arya looked vaguely satisfied but Eridor radiated curiosity.

_Do you believe in them, Eragon? Or have you your own Gods?_Arya directed a heavy frown at Eridor, but he did not notice. Eragon shrugged.

"I was brought up by people who wholeheartedly believed in at least one deity, though it was never fixed." He glanced at Saphira. "And I still believed it when we arrived in Ellesmera; but Master Oromis told me that the elves did not believe in any God, and he gave me many reasons why the elves believe this."

The question was just ready to be spoken; Eragon could feel it forming but Arya lifted her voice before her dragon. "No God has ever presented itself to us, so why should we believe it?"

Eragon hesitated. "Would it not be good to think that, when you died, however you died, there would be a safe, good place to go?" he asked quietly. "To not face the uncertainty of the void? And to meet you loved ones again. If I chose to believe that, I would meet Garrow again. And Brom, and Hrothgar, and Ajihad and – and my mother."

Arya, who had been about to debate this point, stopped. The pain that Eragon showed over the losses – so many of them, for one so young! – was chilling, and her face softened. "Of course. I ... I do understand Eragon. I did not mean to criticise your beliefs."

Eragon placed his hand on the blue sword at his hip uncertainly. "They are not my beliefs. I do not know where to place my beliefs, but they are not the ones I discussed." He gave a grim laugh. "Not any more."

_Not only that. The dwarves were here long before elves, Arya, _said Saphira quietly. Arya turned to stare at Saphira.

_Do you agree with the priest Gannel?_ She said incredulously. Saphira weaved her long neck from side to side.

_No. Because the dragons were in existence long before the dwarves, also. _

Eragon shook his own head. Not for nothing were the dragons considered tricksy. _And what do the dragons think?_

_That, _said Saphira with a twinkle in her eyes, _is something only dragons are privy to. And we do not share. _

Eragon laughed more lightly, and swung his quiver onto his shoulder with a quick, practised movement. But Arya looked shrewdly at Eridor. _Do the dragons truly know? _she asked Eridor without letting Eragon and Saphira hear.

Eridor gave a sense of sympathy she rather resented. _Truly, Arya, it would be good to tell you; but we cannot ... our race is the oldest, the wisest and also the most secretive. We have existed for so long that we know things that cannot be repeated; knowledge is power, and it would be too much for any others._

Arya pursed her lips, then touched his flank gently. _I am sorry, Eridor. I will not ask again._ She sensed his discomfort at her apology and hurried on. _You have become very wise, you know._

_Perhaps, _he said in a low voice, _but not overly much, in any case. _

_With age comes wisdom, _said Arya with a smile. _Some people say that. I suppose it is true. _

_In that case you have the greater knowledge? _said Eridor with an unseen smirk. Arya poked his side.

_Do not mock me,_

_I would never, _he said in a positively cheeky way. _Eragon has many years at his disposal, too, remember._

_Only seventeen years, Eridor – _started Arya, but then she stopped abruptly. It was not old for her people, for the elves, but, as had been pointed out to her, Eragon in the eyes of his own kin was an adult, a man fully of age. _I should not have said that, _she hissed, hands clenching into fists. Though Eragon had not heard, she did not want insult him at all; and especially if he did not know.

_Is age truly that important?_ Eridor asked, touched her shoulder with the bottom of his pointed chin. _I am sure that Eragon is not stupid, and has amassed fair amount of knowledge himself._

_It is not that simple, Eridor ... _Arya severed their contact quickly. Too often Eridor gave her too much to think about. His way of thinking was more literal and questioning, different from hers. It was not good to admit, but she, Arya, was set in her ways of thinking and acting and Eridor made a drastic difference.

As Eragon and Arya left he training grounds to go to Arya's house, Saphira walked behind with Eridor. Her thoughts were tangled: Eridor had let her hear a small part of his and Arya's conversation, and she was mulling it over carefully.

Arya had made her feelings for Eragon quite clear: she liked him, respected him a Rider and friend; but she did not love him the way he loved her and had done for so long.

However, in Saphira's opinion, they had much in common; not only in power and wisdom, but in common interests and aims; and what was different between them was not the sort of thing that started arguments (both were too wise for that by now) and that was how they cooperated, despite being separate races, and despite the difference in age: the common ground they had between them was enough. They were Riders together, they were survivors of many terrible things; they had saved each others' life too many times to bother counting; and there was the chance that all four would die in a very short time.

Age difference. Is should not stand between them; but it did. Saphira felt, in her heart, that Arya still thought Eragon was young, not quite adult, and inexperienced in the painful ways of the world. There was no doubt that Arya herself was; but she did not believe it was true of Eragon.

But Eragon had suffered so much in far less time than Arya. His aunt, whom he had thought to be his mother; his Uncle, whom he had though to be his father; his mother, his blood-father, his half-brother and many others besides.

Saphira felt also that, if only Arya knew this, was aware of it, she would see Eragon in a different light. An idea came to Saphira's mind, and she turned aside to discuss it with Eridor, who, as always, listened with abject attention.

--

"Hello, Saphira. Are you going somewhere?"

_No. I wanted to talk to you._

"Really?" asked Arya, surprised and slightly alarmed. "Is something wrong? Is Eragon well?"

_No. He is fine._

"What is it, then?" asked Arya, slipping down off the wide root of the Menoa tree she had been sitting on and coming forward to Saphira.

_I only wanted to talk to you, Arya. _Saphira pulled at the forest floor beneath her claws. _Please excuse my bluntness, but ... you believe Eragon to be still young and inexperienced, do you not?_

_I ... I do not understand you, Saphira, _said Arya, taken aback.

_You have lived a long time, I know – but in Eragon's seventeen years he has seen and done many things also. He is a man in the eyes of his own family and friends and he has lost many of them._

_I know that, _Arya said slowly. _I discussed it with Eridor only this morning._

_He has lost Garrow and Marian, both of whom he believed to be his parents. He only learned the truth on her deathbed._

_I ... did not know. He never told me. _

_May I show you?_ Saphira asked, and without waiting for an answer filled Arya's heads with memories that were not her own.

_A young boy with dark hair eyes knelt with a set, red face as if barely holding back tears knelt by the low bed of a middle-aged woman. Her fair hair was wispy and lifeless, as was her thin face. Her pale hand reached to him; with a small choke the boy held out his own small hand to meet it. _

"_Don't worry, ma ... Brom will come, he said he would ..." his chin trembled. "And Gertrude will come as well. They'll make you better."_

"_Oh, Eragon," said the woman in a sweet though faint voice. "No one, not even Brom can save me. I am going to ... to stay with the Gods now, my love." She blinked, covering blue eyes briefly. "I am going to be with ... with my father and mother ... and my poor baby ..." She choked and tears spilled down the wasted face. "And also with Garrow's sister."_

_The child also cried; large tears leaked from his eyes, which were screwed up in the effort to try and stop them. "Don't cry, mama ... please, mama ..."_

"_I am not crying because of my passing, Eragon ... I am crying because of what I am about to do."_

"_If you talk, it will be worse, Ma!" Eragon clutched her hand tightly. "Brom WILL come, he will, he will ..."_

"_Ssh, ssh. Hush now, my darling son and listen to me." The woman disengaged her hand from the boy's and touched the curve of his small face. "What I will tell you will be hard ... but you must be brave, like your mother was."_

_Her blue eyes searched his expression, but it did not change but for a few more tears. "You see, Eragon ... the child that was born today was only the second one I have carried. Roran was born three summers before you, but it was not from me that you were borne."_

_Now the boy listened. "But you're my ma, mama. And Roran is my brother, isn't he? Isn't he, ma?"_

"_He is ... he is only your half-brother, Eragon. I did not carry you, and I am not your blood mother."_

"_I don't understand, ma." A note of terror came into his voice. "Are you sending me away? I don't want to go, ma ...!"_

"_No, Eragon. But listen, and be silent. I am weak and I must tell you this myself." She found his hand again and pressed it gently, then closed her eyes as if unable to see the child's reaction. "Eight years ago my sister by marriage, Selena, arrived at our house. She was heavily with child, and though she was exhausted and dirty, she was dressed finely in a net of pearls and good clothes._

"_She would not tell us where she had been, nor who was the father of this child; she remained at our house five months until the baby was born and then she left, only staying long enough to name you Eragon. She died shortly after and we were brought the news by a friend of hers. We raised you as our own, Eragon, and we told no one in the village. I would have told you later, but I did not expect this to happen ..." the lady broke off, her face racked with pain. "Oh, Eragon, I am dying."_

"_No, ma! No, no ..." The child clung to her hand as if drowning. "Stop it, ma!"_

"_I cannot, Eragon. I am sorry to be leaving you, and Roran and my husband but ... I will meet you again. This is not our last parting nor our last conversation together ... I will see you again, my love. Depend upon that."_

"_But I want you to stay, mama! I want you to stay, and talk to us all the time! Please, ma! Wait for Brom!" Horror was creeping into Eragon's face. He stood up, leaning over the woman. "Wait for **me**, ma! Don't leave!" _

"_Tell me something, Eragon," said the woman, quieter than ever. "Tell me ... do you forgive me ... for not ... being your mother ... and for lying to you?"_

"_Ma, I love you! I don't care! Please stay here! Ma!" Eragon pulled her arm in his frenzy, choking through his tears. "Mama!"_

_His plaintive cries brought running into the room a young lad of about ten summers and a tall, gaunt man with a dark moustache. "What is it?" cried the man. "Marian – love –" _

_The boy ran to Eragon's side, his strong legs pounded on the bare boards. "Mother?!"_

"_Goodbye, my boys ... I love you ... remember me well." She looked up at the tall man and the love in her eyes was undiminished. Then they faded; the hand that held Eragon's went limp; the thin body collapsed._

_The older boy's face became an empty mask, only shock registering in his proud face. "Mammy ..."_

_The man put a hand to his eyes and a tear ran to disappear in his moustache. But the youngest child only wept, squeezing the dead hand, sobbing over the pale flesh. _

"_Ma ... ma ... mammy ..." _

_His strangled voice was pitiful, heart-breaking and also very, very familiar. Arya only had a glance at the third person to come bursting through the door: a hook-nosed mand with a long beard below glittering eyes. The Saphira pulled her back to her own mind. _

Arya reeled, stumbling backwards to the huge tree, breathing heavily. "I ... Saphira ... what ...?" Arya swallowed and felt in her throat a large, stubborn lump that corresponded with the prickling behind her eyes.

_That was how Eragon discovered who his mother was. At the deathbed of his adopted mother._

"Why are you showing this to me, Saphira?" asked Arya, irrationally angry at the onslaught of emotions that were coursing through her. "Does Eragon know –?"

_Only if you mention it to him, _Saphira said shortly. _Arya, I know that there has been pain in your life, and terrible losses. But so has Eragon, and although they were different from yours they still happened; Eragon can understand your pain, if you let him, and you in turn can relate to him. I think it a pity that you two avoid it. _

"Saphira – I ... I" Arya took a deep breath. "You are right; but I cannot ... I do not think that he would want to speak about ... this."

_Perhaps. But neither do you. _

_No. I am not sorry, Saphira. I do not wish to talk about it with anyone. _

_Why not?_

_They are my sorrows, my sadnesses! I have dealt with them, I have stopped weeping over them and all is over and done with._

_I do not believe you are, _Saphira said stubbornly._ I think you have pain and sadness; but you also have friends, Arya. Do not think you are alone. _

_If I was, Saphira, it would be no different from most of my life. _

_But you said yourself they were not happy times; and why should you be unhappy when you do not have to be? Eragon and I do not want you to be._

Arya shook her head violently; her hair whipped her face and it stung; the ball in her throat thickened and the prickling changed to a wetness.

_You have done a lot of assuming, Saphira Bjartskular and I do not like to have my feelings toyed with._

_I have not been toying with you. _

_I know – I know your thoughts are pure; but please leave. I will speak again with you tomorrow, do not worry. But leave me now. _

Saphira gave Arya a long, long look_. Be safe, Arya Svit-Kona._ Despite her blunt words, the warmth Saphira sent to Arya was enough let Arya forgive her; it was, in short, almost motherly and it was a feeling Arya had been lacking familiarity with for a long time.

As Saphira disappeared into the darkening night, Eridor fluttered down from the wide branches of the Menoa Tree. Arya stood as frozen, staring at the place where Saphira had crouched. Eridor padded over to her, going onto his knees so that she could lean against his shoulder. But Arya turned around and pushed her face into the corner of his neck, snaking her arms around the warm scales.

Eridor thrummed, a rich note that rumbled through his ribcage and vibrated through Arya's thin clothes. _I love you. _

Arya turned her cheek to touch his skin. _I love you as well, Eridor. So much. _

They remained there for a long while, speaking no words, but taking comfort in the others' presence and the warmth and security that only Eridor could bring to Arya; and if some little, salty drops appeared in her closed eyes, they were quickly blinked away and ignored. But still some vestiges of the memory Saphira had shown her lingered; and even when Arya walked slowly back alongside Eridor to their house, the cries of the young boy echoed in her ears, as if following her on the cold breeze.

"_Ma ... ma ... ma ..."_

--

One thing - this isn't great, but the next chapter should be fun! Hope this wasn't too disappointing, thanks for reading!


	42. Dreams of Durza

Hmph. Well, weird doesn't even describe it, does it? I think perhaps these sudden loads of very intense feeling have something to do with my cat, who died on the eighth of December, and who had been alive longer than I had. We'd had her forever, she was run over while we at a concert over the road, and I buried her in the dark. It puts things into perspective, because she's been around my entire life. I can understand all my characters' feelings now, see.

Anyway I think I'm going funny in my old age. 14 is SUCH a milestone. ::rolls eyes::

Chapter Forty-Two.

Dreams of Durza.

Arya tossed and turned, unable to direct her waking dreams in the places she wanted them to go. It was a gift elves had, to choose their dreams and thoughts while they slept, but Arya could not. Then, even though it was quite impossible, she felt her thin grasp on her own dreams slipping away and changing, suddenly, into old memories, ones she had filed away to forget forever ...

_She tripped with a sudden swoop and went tumbling backwards into a large, muddy puddle, which was unexpectedly deep and filled with sticky, oozing mud that sucked at her clean cotton dress. Arya wiggled about experimentally, and shoved her short legs clad in soft boots heels-first into the puddle. The mud squelched all around her, and made loud blowing noises. With a shriek of delight she threw herself forward, elbows getting lost in the brown clay as she rolled luxuriously in it, revelling in the feel of first the soft layers, then the gritty layers, and finally the thick sticky stuff that her feet had encountered first. _

"_**Arya!**" Her mother's beautiful was not at all pleased. "You are filthy! Falitha, quickly, take her back home." Islanzadi gestured at the nursemaid who had arrived panting behind her to pick Arya up. "Arya, you must stop doing this! It is the third time week you have wandered off without Falitha, and it worries us terribly."_

_Arya tottered reluctantly to her feet, feeling the thick substance in her shoes squelch. Falitha took her hand gingerly and guided her home, where she was bathed until she felt like a boiled chestnut ..._

Arya frowned, even though her tired mind knew it was just a dream, an old memory ...

_Arya stared down at the multitudes of elves laughing and dancing below the balcony she and her mother were sitting on. She was profoundly bored, because she did not want to dance, her bow needed to be restrung, and she was tired. She sighed. Islanzadi glanced at her, a grape half-way to her mouth._

"_Come, come, Arya. Do not be so miserable. You have twenty-five summers this day! In a short time you will be able to start your duties as Princess Regent."_

_Arya gave her mother a dull expression and tried to look more contented, though she did not at all want to want to become Princess Regent and join her mother in matters of state. She wanted to see the Varden, the cities of the dwarves and the huge, hostile Beor Mountains – all the places Brom, Vinr Alfakyn, had travelled to. _

"_Is Brom coming?" she asked as off-handedly as she could, trying to match her mother's languid tones, though she had never been good at it. _

"_Yes, I have already met with him ... I am sure he will be along shortly." Islanzadi looked at Arya sharply. "You spend much time with him."_

"_Yes, mother ..." Arya blinked, looking down at the revelling elves and thinking quickly; she did not want her mother to know her intentions to travel to the Varden just yet. "He visits so rarely, I like to talk with him; he teaches me much."_

"_Brom is wise," Islanzadi said, her eyes seeming to pierce Arya's own eyes, "but do not let yourself be lead astray by him. He is a man of great power, but his wanderlust is great. You have your own duties to attend. Your father would not want you to ignore them."_

_Arya set her jaw, biting back words which would not have won her favour. "Unfortunately, mother, I will never know what my father wanted me to do. Perhaps I should try all avenues before deciding on any one thing."_

"_Don't be silly, Arya," said Islanzadi, still in that absent voice. "I hardly think you are going to be needed by Brom for anything."_

_Arya stood up abruptly; her pretty tunic, embroidered in red and silver swished about her as she left the couch she had been sharing with her mother. "It would be better to carry Brom's baggage than to sit here at home while the **beast** that killed my father lives on. Excuse me," she said coldly, and as she strode away to her rooms, she felt rather than saw her mother's astonished face; the twinge of guilt she felt only angered her more; she resolved to find Faolin to spar with ... _

Arya buried her head into her pillow, her unconsciousness flying away by itself, dredging up things that no one knew about ...

"_What did you say?" Islanzadi's voice was of deadly calm, though Arya could feel the fury rising. She raised her head proudly. _

"_Brom-elda has discussed my abilities with Deynor of the Varden. As you know, they have for some time been wishing for a closer relationship with our people: Brom felt that I would be suitable after I discussed my intentions with him of leaving Du Weldenvarden. Deynor has agreed to this, for he wishes only harmony between our two peoples. He also sends his well-wishes and hopes that you are well."_

_Islanzadi's pale cheeks had a rising colour in them. "How dare you go behind my back to do this, Arya? I thought I had raised you better! You are leaving our people, your father's people, and just to get away from here? How **dare** you?"_

"_With respect, mother," said Arya warily, "I was also raised to be independent and to think for myself. I fail to see how this will affect anyone, let alone harm anyone. I will be a negotiator, I will work for you; and so there we can help the Varden and the dwarves in their struggle against Galbatorix. After all, we have as many grudges against him as they do."_

"_I have lost my husband to that usurper," Islanzadi said, coming closer to Arya and dropping her voice. "I will not lose my daughter to him as well. Reconsider, Arya."_

"_You lost your husband," said Arya in an equally low voice, "but I lost my father. If we three go to the Varden then we can perhaps help to bring about his end. I have made decision, mother. You know that I will not change my mind."_

"_Arya," said Islanzadi, a slight note of desperation coming into her voice, "do not do this. I will stand for it."_

"_Stand for what, mother?" said Arya quietly. "Me becoming an ambassador or for leaving you?"_

"_One chance, Arya. Only one. I will not allow a daughter of mine to do this: if you persist, then so help me, I will banish you from my presence and you will cease to be a daughter to me."_

_Arya stared at Islanzadi, hurt but unwilling to show it. "Then, my Queen, you have finalised my decision. I will go to the Varden, and I will work with Deynor and Brom and Hrothgar to bring about the fall of my father's killer."_

_Islanzadi's smooth, beautiful face contorted almost so that it was unrecognisable. "I banish you from this court, Arya Drottningu. You are a shame to your House and family and I no longer name you as such." Arya shook; anger and loathing rang from her mother's clear voice. All the Lords and Ladies along the walls gasped, horror on their fair faces. _

"_Begone from my sight," she thundered, "and may you never return unless on your ill-fated –" her lip curled "– diplomatic missions."_

_Arya's face had frozen into an immobile, cold mask. She placed one armoured hand across her middle and made a deep bow,willing her mother to understand the hateful irony of it. "Farewell, my Queen. Until we meet again."_

_She turned around, head head proud, chin held high. As she walked past the boles of the ancient trees that made the Throne Room, she lifted one imperious hand to her two specially-chosen guards. "Come."_

_As she left, Faolin and Glenwing on either side, she gripped her sword. No feelings, either of anger, fear or loss came to her, and as she walked, she enjoyed the feel of her quiver on her back, the sword at her hip and the dagger hidden in her boot. But then Faolin reached to her side and squeezed gently, and for the first time a slight smattering of warmth entered her heart ..._

Sweat broke on Arya's sleeping brow; her hair clung to her face.

_As Gilderien the Wise let the three through the city boundaries, Arya turned to look once last time at Ellesmera, the only place she had ever lived, the place she had never left, where her cold mother reigned. She blinked slowly and turned to look back at her horse's ears, but froze as a harsh croak sounded, echoing through the trees, and then that dreaded voice:_

"_Mother and daughter both alike, mother and daughter both are cold!" it cackled._

_Arya twisted on her horse's back, finding the flash of white she knew she would. "Blagden, keep your **doggerel** to yourself!" she cried fiercely, wishing that she could keep the emotion out of her voice. "Take your spying eyes back to the Queen and tell her I will not be manipulated!"_

_She turned back around and whispered archly to her horse: "Gangr Vor!" The horse broke into a canter then a leaping gallop, and Arya dashed ahead of Faolin and Glenwing, wishing to loose Blagden's cackling in the sound of the undergrowth they were flattening._

"_Acorn to a tree I knew, egg before a hen, but never did I see a Queen, die before her time!" _

Eridor's eyelids twitched as Arya's memories rushed through him and his tail flicked as in the memory she returned to Gil'ead ...

_Arya watched a knot of blood-matted hair slide down her cheek, tasting the same blood in her mouth and the sweat that itched all over her. Behind her the black-clad torturer was standing by a forge; the red light glowed dully on everything, and she knew that when the Shade returned it would begin again._

_The metal had been heated to red-hot. Arya clenched her muscles as she sensed the Shade enter the room again. Fear battled with hate for dominance inside her. She could hear his breath hissing from behind the pointed teeth. _

"_So, Elf. Still conscious?"_

_His voice brought shivers of revulsion up and down her spine. She moved her bruised head so that her chin pointed higher to show her defiance. He chuckled; it sounded like iron grinding on stone._

"_Give me that, you fool." The Shade took the glowing thing from the torturer and lifted it up effortlessly. "Elf, I will give you one more chance. Tell me where you sent the egg and I will spare your life."_

_Arya's teeth hurt, ached from gritting them together for hours on end, but she managed a wide, cold grin. "I find you very funny, filth. Perhaps that is why Galbatorix employed you – to be his court jester –?" _

_He brought a heavy, mailed arm smashing down on her bruised ribs. She hissed, fingers twitching at the pain, though she could do no more as she was tied to the torture table. "You have no _idea_ how much I enjoy the time I spend with you, little one."_

_Once more Arya managed to move her lips. She spat a gobbet of dark blood into Durza's pale, livid face and waited for the inevitable. _

_It came. With no change of expression, only an interested enjoyment, Durza lifted the glowing red thing and Arya saw that it, unlike the last torture instruments, was shaped in the likeness of a claw, five hooked, pointed, prongs, and when the big, ugly man by the forge turned her over as if she were a sack of meal to face down on the table and began to unlace her top, she knew what they were going to do ... _

_And as the terrifying, cruel brand rested on her sweating skin, the pain was indescribable: she tried to throw herself away, willing herself not to yell out loud; her hands lashed out but hit only the thickening air and the Shade's laughter beat inside her aching skull ... _

_Then the brand was lifted again and she finally screamed ... _

And Eridor roared, eyes opening with a snap. He backed away, rearing up but hitting the ceiling of Arya's house with a bump and roaring again, angrily, furiously, with a certain amount of horror. It echoed through the tall trees of Ellesmera, through the many empty houses and the quiet Tialdari Hall. In Vrael's old house, Saphira woke with a jolt of fear: in her short life she had talked with only two dragons, and none of them, ever, had uttered a noise like the one that resounded in her ears.

Eragon had heard it too: he sprang from his bed and his dagger was in his hand. _Was it – Eridor –? _

_Must have been. Quick, let's go. _

Eragon paused briefly to pull on the first shirt he saw, a tatty, once-white that had been destroyed by one of Snowfire's many tantrums, and climbed up Saphira's bare back carefully to avoid the spikes, because it was easier to slip without the saddle.

Saphira dropped with flared wings into the air, careful not to unseat him. _Hold on._

There was a strong, cold wind that stirred the tall trees and blew the freezing droplets of rain in steep drifts; and Eragon struggled to stay on as Saphira battled the gusts. But finally she dropped under the canopy, diving abruptly to land in a large, swollen puddle. Eragon immediately slithered down her side, the rain making it more slippery, and landed feet first in the watery mud.

It splashed up and soaked him, the grainy bits of stone catching between his lips. He spat them out and splashed wearily out of the puddle, not even bothering to ask Saphira if she could not have landed somewhere drier.

_Come on, then._

Eragon took the familiar route to Arya's house, skirting flowerbeds and following stairs that were treacherously slippery from the rain. As he neared her door, he could hear hear the angry, shifting noises and the swish of Eridor's tail; he could not tell what Arya was doing, and with a burst he entered the porch before her door, banging peremptorily on the door before bursting inside.

There was a shriek. "Good heavens – _Eragon!"_

Eragon stared, taking the whole bizarre scene in in an instant. Niduen was backed against a wall, slowly feeling her way around the room to Arya's bed; she was not even halfway there. Eridor was trapped in the house that was now too small for him to stand in: his head grazed the ceiling and with every bump he became angrier. The waves of fear and anger that rolled off him confused Eragon's mind as they connected with him. He roared in a strangled voice, tail waving madly. He may have been forming words, but Eragon could not decipher them.

But Arya was not there. Eragon kept one wary eye on the frantic Eridor, and glanced frantically about for Arya. He saw the end of a long, low, bed in the doorway of the next room, which, Niduen communicated silently, Arya was in.

His heart came into his mouth. _Saphira, where are you?! Eridor – _

_I know, I'm coming! Wait a moment!_

Saphira shoved her head and shoulders through a large window, ignoring the sound of splintering wood. _Eridor! Eridor, stop it!_

He threw up his head, and more wood splintered as the small were-lamp shattered. Saphira struggled to get further through the window, and suddenly Eridor became aware of her.

_You killed him! _he roared, snapping his jaws. Saphira jumped, and Eragon cursed under his breath; he had no idea what was going on; all he wanted to do was get to Arya.

_What? Who?_ Saphira demanded, as Eragon tried to communicate to Niduen that she should take cover. Niduen understood, and she slipped into the water closet and pulled the door to with a disgruntled look.

_You told me you had! _growled Eridor, turning awkwardly to look at Saphira.

_WHO?_ she replied, growling as well. _I cannot recount a whole list for you!_

Eridor rolled his shoulders like a cat about to pounce. _The Shade!!_

Eragon paused in his slow creep to Arya's bedroom. Saphira froze.

_**Durza!?**_ they exclaimed in unison, shocked by that name, said out loud for the first time in so long, and horrified that Eridor had said it.

_But he's dead, Eridor. We killed him in Farthen Dur!_

Eragon stared, completely disarmed, and not daring to say anything. He noticed for the first time that Eridor was shaking, his somewhat gangly limbs trembling, and a muscle made spasms in his shoulder.

_I ... how did she stand all that pain, Saphira? I couldn't._

Eragon gritted his teeth; in the tense, overly emotional atmosphere, it was too easy to remember Arya's bruised, bleeding back, the infected cuts and deep scars that had covered her body. Saphira had paused in her attempts to climb through the now very much enlarged window and stretched as far as she could to nudge his leg with her nose.

_What happened?_ she asked, straining a little harder so as to be able to have her head closer to Eridor's own anguished one.

And Eridor responded in rush of tumbled words, angry, fearful emotions. Eragon stood stock still and listened, though he barely understood the words, feeling worse by the moment. He remembered Arya's wounds, he remembered her unflinching acknowledgement of the fact that she could soon die, but Eridor had not been there: he had not experienced Durza's maniacal, red eyes, his scarred face and that long sword with the scratch that brave Ajihad had had inflicted ...

Eragon felt a shudder start in his spine, but he refused to flinch: Durza was dead, they'd killed him long ago and all those poor innocents had been revenged ...

But if he was dead, then how could he have the power to start this awful, dreadful night? How could a dead thing make a dragon roar with pain, and anger, and hurt? And, Eragon thought with a surge of horror, if Eridor was in such a state, then what about Arya ...?

Deciding quickly that Eridor would not lash out, Eragon crossed the once elegant room, alarmed. No one could have failed to hear Eridor, especially not Arya, being bonded to him, and Eragon entered the darkened bedroom without caution, not even noticing Niduen emerging from her hiding place.

This room was as fair as the other room, with white-wood pillars and many warm-coloured pillows and blankets adorned the bed. But Eragon had no eyes for these things and he hastened to the bed, conjuring a light and directing it to the ceiling.

"Arya?" he whispered harshly, then caught sight of an arm amongst the quilts. He pulled them back, panic bubbling in the pit of his stomach. "Arya?" he touched the limp arm, and moved a cushion to find her face.

Her face was blank and her cheeks were flushed red; but her eyes were open, and though wide and glassy because she slept in the elven fashion, they glittered in the blue light and the beautiful green pupils moved fitfully, though unseeingly. Eragon felt the panic change to deep unease. He reached out a hesitant hand to her face; he hesitated; then her face seemed to blanch. A halting breath hissed from her lips and slowly, with a halting, sad progress a tiny silver tear ran down her pale cheek.

"Arya ..." whispered Eragon, unthinkingly and utterly naturally touching the unknowing face, seeing with strange clarity the shining tear-track, and the soft glow of his spell on her skin.

But at his touch on her cheek, her eyes lost the glassy look that sleep had brought and she blinked, once, twice, and a soft gasp escaped her lips. She touched his hand on her cheek for the briefest of moments, then sat up, mouth parted and eyes wide.

"Eragon – what –?"

He quickly pulled back his hand and tried to pull together something to say, to put into words his concern, but then Niduen came running in, hair loose and eyes wild.

"Arya! What in heaven is happening? I heard –"

"Eridor," breathed Arya. She looked no longer tired, only dazed, but her features sharpened as she said it. Her expression did not change as she threw back the many covers, scrambled over the bed past Eragon and ran from the room without a backward glance. Niduen looked questioningly at Eragon, but he ignored her and hurried after Arya.

She wore a long white nightdress and it fluttered as she dashed across the room, not seeming to care that she was standing on splinters of wood from her ruined house, nor that it was bitterly cold and the rain that drove through the windows was icy. She glanced at Saphira without noticing her, then ducked beneath her neck, hurrying along his side and then colliding with his neck.

Eragon went to the broken window, still blocked by Saphira, feeling the waves of relief and love rolling from Eridor and something he did not recognise from Arya. Eridor curled his head, holding Arya to him and thrumming deep in his chest.

Arya leant forward slowly, resting her burning-hot cheek on his scales, cooled by the wind and rain. Her mind was dazed, and tired; all she could see were those memories, her mother's angry face, her cruel dismissal from her presence. And in her ears Blagden's rough voice, cawing those awful words: _Never did I see a Queen, die before her time!_

Arya shuddered, pressing harder into Eridor's side, feeling the wind raise goose pimples on her skin and the rain dampen her nightdress. She was so glad to have Eridor, to be able to huddle against, feel his comforting presence ...

A pair of delicate hands touched her elbow and Niduen's blue eyes came into focus. She proffered a thick fleece blanket, and tried to put it around Arya's shoulders: but Arya shrugged it off.

"What are you doing here, Niduen?" She tried not to let her voice chatter in the cold.

"What do you mean, what am I doing here? Arya! You are very confusing, how can you ask that?"

"I will ask whatever I please!" Arya exclaimed, annoyed and disorientated. She could see nothing but Eridor's flank and neck, and Niduen, who had approached warily with the blanket and was watching her somewhat warily, too.

"Arya, you will catch cold! Just – take the blanket."

_You should probably do as she says, _said someone who was unmistakeably Saphira, and Arya jumped.

What was Saphira doing in her house? Also, how had she come into her house? Arya stepped around Eridor and looked about, stopping short with a pang of dismay. She had not noticed before why there was wood strewn everywhere, nor why the wind was sweeping through the house and sending her papers flying everywhere.

But now, with a sinking heart, she saw how Saphira had entered her house, and the reason for the wind. _Eridor, what happened?!_

_Arya, don't you – how can you not ... know? _said Eridor haltingly, swinging his head around to gaze at her with large eyes. Saphira, trapped in the irreparable window, made a confused noise. Then Arya heard another person, and she remembered who she had seen when she'd woken, whose warm hand had been on her cheek ...

"Arya, do you not know what happened?" Eragon asked, coming from Saphira's side towards her, looking extremely concerned and wearing, Arya noticed, a shirt that was ripped in many places around the neck. Arya's feeling of annoyance increased.

"No, I do not know what has happened!" she hissed as soon as he was close enough. "But – my house – how did _this_ happen?!"

"You don't – remember?" Eragon said slowly, looking increasingly bemused. "But surely you heard Eridor?"

"No, I did not." A cold hand hand clutched her heart and she gazed at the destroyed room. "Eridor?"

"Yes ..." replied Eragon, looking at her more oddly than ever. Arya bristled.

"Eragon, will you please speak plainly?" she said severely. "Is everyone in this house bewitched?"

"No no," he said with strange expression. "Not really." He came closer, becoming concerned again. "Why didn't you wake up when Saphira pushed her head through the window?" he asked quietly.

"I ... didn't hear her," Arya said uneasily; elves did not dream in the heavy way that mortals did, and were quite capable of waking whenever they wanted. "Why," she said quickly to cover her confusion, "is Saphira in my window, then?"

Niduen tutted disapprovingly, and handed the blanket to Eragon. "Arya, you must put some clothes on. It's terribly cold."

"_No_, Niduen," said Arya emphatically. Niduen snorted quietly and padded off past Saphira's head to Arya's bedroom; Eragon decided that stubbornness was a family trait. Arya raised an eyebrow at Eragon, trying not be betray her impatience. "Well?"

Eragon glanced at Eridor. "We heard – Eridor was ..." Eragon rubbed his chin agitatedly. "... he was so angry, Arya. We heard him and we came but ..." Eragon broke off again and looked at Eridor respectfully, not wanting to ignore, nor make him seem incompetent.

_I could feel your dreams_, he said quietly, though Eragon could feel the uneasiness that was still there, and also some anger. _Why didn't you tell me?_

_I can't dream, Eridor – I don't._

_Well, you were! When you said Skilna Bragh was a poison, you did not tell me how it was used on you!_

Eragon could vaguely follow this train of thought, because he was just about used to Eridor's strange, round-about thought patterns, but Arya looked as if she fully understood him. Her eyes were wide.

_What are talking about?_

Eridor growled, and his tail flicked. Eragon tensed and Saphira started to push at the window again. Arya did not even notice the splintering wood.

"Arya, why did you not wake up when Eridor roared? I am sure that all those left in this city heard it, and you were in the same house. It does not seem possible."

Arya narrowed her eyes. "I did not hear him! I will not tell you again."

"But," Eragon pressed gently, "you should have." Arya clenched her jaw and did not reply."What did you dream about, Arya?" Arya shook her head slightly, annoyed that he was pushing so much. "I know you dreamt of something – or saw something. Your eyes were moving."

Arya sighed. Eragon had not changed so very much, only grown in confidence. He was just as curious as ever. "I ... they were only my memories. Just my thoughts. Nor are they important."

"Important or not," said Eragon stubbornly, "when Eridor felt them, he was distraught. Saphira rarely becomes so angry, and when she has, it has not been because of something in my mind.

"Did you dream about Durza?"

A gasp of surprise hissed from behind Arya's teeth and she spun a round quickly, eyes fiery. "Did you look into my mind?" she demanded fiercely, eyes fairly spitting fire.

"I would _never_ do that," Eragon in a low voice, but equally fiercely.

"Then _how_ do you know?"

Eragon gripped her elbow before she could turn away and disappear, as he knew she would. "Because," he said through gritted teeth, "the only coherent thought I could get from Eridor was **Durza.**"

Arya's every muscle became stiff. She looked like a rabbit, caught in the glare from a hunter's torch. "What?" she whispered.

"Whether you were aware of it or not, Durza was in your thoughts. Maybe Gil'ead as well." Arya gazed into his eyes, caught. "Remember how I could see you, in the cell? I saw you once, in the moonlight. It hurt me to feel your pain, and I hated to see you imprisoned, even though I did not know you. Imagine what Eridor would feel if he saw that memory? He is your dragon, the closest person to you, specially bonded with you, and if he saw that? It was enough to make me search every prison I came to, but Eridor ... he destroyed this house because he did not know what it meant."

Arya would have pulled away, run to Eridor, but a sharp pain behind her eyes made her vision waver. And then Eragon's brown eyes and angled face disappeared, and all was black. Durza's red eyes hovered before her, the hot irons glowed and they came closer, closer, until red was everywhere, there was only red and she could see nothing else, only feel the blinding pain and hear his cold laugh ...

And the filthy torturer's hands on her, his stony breath on her face: and Arya hated him, everything, everyone, and she lashed out, hands clenched into hard fists and snarling with rage.

"_Arya_!"

Warm arms, warm breath, kind voice.

The red mist lifted.

"_**Barzul!**"_

As the light became clear again, the wind to howls and the wood to creak, Arya swore. Fluently and for a long time, because the arms around her were Eragon's, the voice that had so calmed her was his, and she had bruised him badly with her stupid, fearful, weak rage.

She stared at the slowly-swelling lump on Eragon's cheek, aware that he had not let go of her middle. But she hadn't known what was happening, it was as if Durza was truly alive again, as though she had had to fight to keep the secrets of her people and the Varden ...

"Eragon ..." he didn't even seem to notice the bruise. It would have been better to apologise, or try to explain. But a cruel pain in her head pounded, and it was shard to think. "Let go."

"Sorry." He stepped, back, brows knitted. "Are you ill?"

"No," she replied shortly. Eragon ignored her.

"Your fist?"

"No."

She saw Eragon sigh, but he did not chance to say anything, because Niduen had once more arrived. "Arya! _Please_ put this on." She held a long gown of green felt, but Arya ignored her, staring with some sorrow but mostly anger at the red and swollen lump on Eragon's cheek.

"Do you want to sit down?" he said eventually, looking very concerned.

"No," said Arya, unaware that her hands were shaking. "I apologise, I did not mean to hit you – "

He did not even acknowledge this. "What – what happened, Arya?"

"Durza." She swallowed feeling weak, silly for admitting this Eragon, who was so much younger than him, who had faced so much ...

But it was easier to keep talking; the cruel red eyes blinked in her mind's eye. "I saw Durza, when he took me to the torture chamber for the last time before you came to rescue me ..." her eyes prickled. "He used irons, red hot irons ..." With a sickening jolt that had nothing to do with the headache behind her eyes, she stumbled back into Eridor's comforting flank. "They were shaped claws and he pushed them into my back ..."

Even as Arya started to reach out to Eridor's mind, she saw a flash of fiery, deadly anger in Eragon's eyes, not something she had often seen, and she remembered what he had said about hating to feel her pain and see her wounds, even though he had not known her ...

_Oh, Arya._ Eridor was not the least bit angry now; he had a strong way of speaking, much like her father had had. _It was so awful, and I never knew._

_I should have told you. I am sorry, Eridor._

_Oh, but I do not care. But if you had, you would not have been so miserable._

_I spent so long ignoring it afterwards, Eridor. We had to fight, then I travelled with the dwarves and Eragon, then another battle. I did forget, mostly. I never thought to tell you. _

Eridor thrummed deeply, and Arya felt quite suddenly better. _Silly. I could have helped. Eragon never mentioned how terrible your wounds were._

_I never saw them after I was given the poison,_ Arya said. _They were beneath my clothes, I ... _she trailed off, realising that when she arrived at the Varden, her physical wounds had been healed. _Eragon must have done it ... _A flicker of embarrassment ran through, but one look at Eragon, stoic and quiet at that moment, quelled it: that had been a long time ago.

_If not for those dreams, those old memories, Eridor, I would not have told you, _she told him, irritated with herself.

_Then it was good for something, I suppose._

_I should not have done that, hit Eragon, fought him ... _

_You could not help it._

_Exactly! I am an elf, I do not dream like mortals do, yet you did not wake me. I was having terrible, terrible dreams, and yet I did not wake. And when I told Eragon about Durza, I thought he was Durza. It is wrong – almost impossible by all accounts. _

_I know. _Eridor rested his head on top of hers for a moment. _Ask Eragon._

Niduen had appeared again, with not only a mug of something that steamed, but a bowl of warm water and towel. "You awful, Arya. Wash you face, and please put the gown on this time. Then there is tea, and I will ask Bellaen to bring me some honeysuckle ointment."

"You will do no such thing. Bellaen is _not_ to know about events this evening," she said quickly, smiling at Niduen for her kindness and concern.

"I will talk to Bellaen as I please," said Niduen immediately. "Arya, _please_."

Arya did not ever hear her. "I thought you were the Shade, Eragon. I would not have hurt you otherwise, but I should not have even felt that. It was as if ... as if ..."

Eragon's face seemed to tighten. "As if you were being controlled."

Arya breathed quickly. "What is it?"

"I will speak with Saphira, but we only know a little more than you."

"Tell me, then."

"Not yet," said Eragon emphatically. "You will not be hurt, but it is too late and you are ill –"

"I told you that I was not." Niduen was watching this with altogether too much interest, Arya thought.

"But we are all tired and this thing I will tell you, it is not pleasant, Arya."

"I am not ill, nor am I weak. I will not faint away."

"Perhaps, but I will not say anything this night." Arya saw the stubbornness in Eragon's face, utterly unyielding. She did not know that Niduen's amused though bewildered expression was because of the stubbornness in her own face as well. "I am sorry, Arya. Some things are best left to daylight."

Arya narrowed her eyes, suddenly chilled: the look in Eragon's eyes was unsettling: wary, angry and deeply, deeply, uneasy. She could not fathom that look, but she knew his ways: he would not answer.

"What is so terrible, Eragon?" she asked quietly. "There are no things of the dark that elves fear."

"Perhaps elves do not," said Eragon curtly, eyes grave. "But mortals do. Daylight is safer by all accounts."

Niduen plucked at Arya's elbow with a severe look on her face. "Eragon is right, Arya. It is late and we all need to sleep."

Arya hissed, looking at Niduen with distinct irritation. _Niduen, for sure, my mother was never as protective as you! I am not a child, and nightmares do not frighten me._

_Frighten you? _Niduen blinked. _That I do not know about, but you must sleep, you must rest, and Eragon will not say a word, as you know full well._

_I will sleep. I appreciate your concern, but I think it would have been when we were children. I can look after myself. _

_You are too proud, Arya. Do you think Eragon and Saphira will think any less of you?_

_**You** are far too presumptuous,_ replied Arya grumpily. Niduen tossed her head.

"We all need rest," she said aloud. "I have a large house, and warm, dry places for Eridor to sleep close by. I must insist on you coming, Arya," she said, frowning.

"All right, Niduen." Arya gazed at Eragon, trying to gage his thoughts, but could not. "I will be at the training grounds tomorrow as usual. Then we will speak."

Eragon nodded. "Very well." He looked at Niduen briefly. "You will both be well?"

"Yes." Arya folded her arms. Niduen's amused look returned, much to Arya's chagrin.

"Of course, Shadeslayer." Niduen glanced at Saphira. "Goodnight."

Eragon was looking at her, still concerned. "Will you be all right, Arya?"

"Of course," she said brusquely. "I will be fine. _We_ will be all right."

"Very well," he said slowly, putting a brief hand on her arm; the heat seemed to burn through her nightdress. "Sleep well."

Arya and Niduen watched him leave, navigating his way through the many spars of wood that lay everywhere. Saphira started to pulled her head and shoulders out of the window, cracking more of the wall in the process. A soon as Saphira left, the wind was free to race through the house from the gaping space of the window, and the rain drove across the floor in grey lines; she and Niduen hurried to leave, the water running down their faces and the wind cruel.

They did not hear Saphira take off, and barely noticed the thuds of her wings on the air. Arya paused as she left, shivering with the cold, to gaze at her ruined home, strewn with splinters of wood and shreds of cloth. It was still raining, and it soaked everything, her rolls of parchment that were already soggy messes and at the graceful sung-wood carvings that had adorned her walls.

She could not find it in her to care very much, and still the Shade's malevolent presence hovered in the back of her mind. With a shudder, she followed Niduen, suddenly very much wanting a warm bed and chance to be quiet and peaceful with only her and Eridor's thoughts.

--

_I think it was the Vault of Souls, Saphira. I can find no other explanation._

Eragon rubbed his face wearily and sighed. Saphira settled down in her soft bed with a preoccupied air. _Brom said it would not be easy; I did not expect Arya and Eridor to share it with us._

_True ... that is strange. Eridor had not hatched then. Could they have known beforehand?_

_Oh, surely that is impossible. _

_Still_ said Eragon. _It is a strange thing that happened. Poor, poor Eridor. He did not know what to do. The things he saw must have been horrific._

_And Arya. She shouted when she hit you. She thought you were Durza. _

_I know. I feel sorry for her, but I know she does not want my pity._

_She does not need it. Your friendship, I am sure, is enough._

_That she certainly does have. But it is cruel that such terrible things can come back in such a violent way. Elves do not dream ... but Arya was when I went to her room._

Saphira padded her bed like an irritable cat, tired and uneasy. _Strange things are happening to this land, Eragon. There are many things we will never understand. _

Eragon thought of Elva, cursed by his ignorance; his village, destroyed only for revenge; his father, uncle and mother who had died for the games of a madman; of Arya's father, killed by the Forsworn; of the race of dragons, nearly extinct. And then of Brom, kept half-alive in a place that was more evil than anywhere else in Alagaesia. His stomach churned.

_I know what you mean._

_--_

Arya tossed and turned in the unfamiliar bed, hearing the rain and wind beat on the roof. She was in some ways tired, but she could not sleep: it was good to be wearing dry clothes, and the bed wads comfy; Niduen was asleep, but the clear state that an elf had to be in to do so escaped her: she did not have Eridor close by her, and was uneasy.

And when sleep finally did come, it was not the peaceful thing that Niduen was doubtless experiencing. There was nothing, not the waking dreams her people normally had, nor the vivid memories of the first part of that night. She could feel nothing, see nothing, hear nothing.

And then Eragon was there, lying down, asleep, looking utterly peaceful. Then so was Arya, suddenly calm, suddenly peaceful; and without a qualm she lay down by his side without a thought running through her head, only the feeling of safety and warmth and kindliness that few people had ever brought her; she put her head on her arms, closed her eyes and quite naturally fell asleep.

--

Ok, first I will explain. Durza is NOT alive again. Arya was in a dream herself in the last two paragraphs and Eragon was not physically there. The dream she had WERE to do with the Vault of Souls. This will be explained a few chapters later. Erm ... I did say this would be strange, though i also said it would be up soon.

Second and more important - I know the name of the third book! It's not Empire, Eridor or Ending. Guess.

It's '_Brisingr'._

And with that bombshell, I'm uploading this. The news was from CP's website, so no fakes. Just got the email!

--


	43. Answers

Meh. This is pointless, almost. I'm an incredible P----d off person at the moment. I got my rifle back out, and made the target sorry it was ver made. My pig of a dad took the 2.2 rifle, and the verminpel without me knowing, as well as the targets I had for MY birthday. Grrr.

Anyway, thank-you very much for the reviews. I did not reply to ... Oh my god. I just realised. the email system must be down, there are loads of reviews I didn't notice! I'm so sorry, they're so nice! Dammit! Sorry, i'll PM those I didn't see ...

In that case please enjoy this!

Chapter Forty-Three.

Answers.

Eragon was up as early as always; the little walnut-wood bauble that Oromis had given to him had woken him, and he had accordingly made his way down to the training fields. He knew better than to think Arya would not be there, claiming fatigue or illness: she was as unyielding as rock from the Spine in such matters.

He unsheathed Daiithil and warded it, but soon laid it aside: over and over again in the night he had agonised over the events in Arya's house. Again and again he had cursed Durza's name, then Galbatorix, and finally ended up with Morzan and Brom. It was all Morzan and Brom. Because of Morzan, Murtagh had been born. Because of Brom, he, Eragon, had been born.

Morzan had killed Brom's dragon Saphira and taken his own sword, Daiithil from him. Brom had killed Morzan and taken Za'roc from him. Murtagh had taken Za'roc from Eragon, and Eragon had recovered Daiithil. Daiithil had fought Za'roc, and Eragon had fought Murtagh for Eridor's egg, just as Brom fought Morzan for Saphira's. Always, _always, _there was this gruesome symmetry, like history repeating itself.

It was history. Brom had made Alagaesian history; and in another way, so had Eragon and Saphira. On the other hand, Murtagh and Morzan had both had far too much of a part in it as well. Everything good that Brom had done had been counteracted by Morzan; and so it was with Eragon and Saphira. They were at loggerheads always.

And it was _infuriating._

There was a link; two families (if they could be called such) were not often so much intertwined with each other, and certainly not in enmity. So Eragon had lain awake last night, puzzling – not, he told Saphira, actually _worrying –_ over this strange phenomena. One link was obvious: Selena.

Selena, who had carried both Murtagh and Eragon. Selena, with whom Brom had fallen in love with, and whom, to quote Angela, had been her downfall. Selena, whom Morzan had married and with whom she had had the legitimate child Murtagh.

Still, Selena had known only basic magic: she had not had a dragon hatched for her, she had not had, all things considered, a good life.

Eragon had broken the skin of his hands as he had thought this, for his hands had become of their own accord tight fists. It had hurt, and he had ended that train of thought.

He and Saphira were so very sure that the Vault of Souls had been the cause of Arya's dreams and sudden moments of panic. He, Eragon, had often felt the pull of the Vault: a tugging in his mind, where all his fears were realised. The Varden destroyed, Nasuada dead, Saphira captured, Roran dead, Katrina back in Helgrind ... And Arya, always it was the faint suggestion in his mind that Arya would be hurt, killed, tortured, captured ... That was what brought him gasping and retching for breath in the middle of the night.

But had _never _wanted this for Arya, nor Eridor! It was foul, and evil despite Brom's assurances that it would be used as he saw fit. And Arya, she had so many memories, thoughts and old fears from long ago. If they were all brought to light, and she had them in her mind all the time – it would hurt her, it would distract her, and then there would be no more hope.

And the only reason Eragon could stand these nightly tortures was because of Saphira; she shared his load, therefore it was lessened. She could take the evil thoughts from him and bury them in her own much stronger mind.

All Arya had to do was to trust Eridor, in a complete way, where she would never hide anything from him, or ignore him. Then Eridor, even in his sleep, would take from Arya the evil things that the Vault would conjure in her mind, and her mind would remain clear.

He would tell her that today, Eragon decided as he stared unseeingly at the coiled dragon on Daiithil's hilt. Then she would know all of that cruel burden he had carried since he had fought Murtagh, but Eragon rather thought that she would not be pleased; angry at the invasion of her privacy, or even scared that the Souls could enter her her unconscious mind.

This made Eragon scowl, and his hands tightened on the silver pommel: he and Saphira had decided to allow the Souls to give them their timeless energy, but never, _never_, had they mentioned Arya, or anyone else.

That, as Saphira said, was the strange thing. It should not have happened, it was impossible, surely – even Galbatorix had had to make Murtagh go to the Vault himself to gather the Souls for himself. Logic said that Arya would have had to do the same.

But then, logic had never been very useful in dealing with the Vault of Souls.

Eragon snorted, startling a sparrow from its perch on an elder twig. Brom had always taught him logic. All throughout _Tuatha du Orothrim,_ the first stage in his Rider training, Brom had pounded argument after argument that necessitated the use of logic into him. Now the Vault was counteracting all of that.

So, to think illogically, then, somehow Arya had these Souls feeding power to her, and she had not even asked for it. There must be something that was the reason for it, must be – had to be. But no matter how long Eragon puzzled, both during the night and while he waited for Arya, it did not come to him.

--

Arya blinked, her dreams slipping away as the cold, winter sunshine coming through the window fell on her eyelids. She sat up immediately; the years of sleeping on battle grounds and army camps made her not want to be oblivious to her surroundings for long.

But the light, airy room in Niduen's bright house was quiet and tranquil, broken only by the small winter birds outside that seemed to Arya to be unreasonably happy. She sighed, knowing that her scrolls, her reports for the Varden, and the few precious scrolls she kept safe were quite likely to be littered over Tialdari Hall. The gardeners would not be pleased, the few that were left to tend to the gardens.

_Eridor? _she said tentatively, and felt him stretch and yawn.

_Yes?_

_Good morning. How are you?_

_Hungry,_ he said non-committally. _And a little tired. _

_Oh ... _Arya hugged the corner of her quilt; guilt crept into her mind. It was her fault, her pride and supposed ability to do all things by herself that had so terrified Eridor last night, and it was only her fault that her house was now all over the lawns and flowerbeds. _I am so sorry, Eridor._

_Oh, don't be upset, Arya! _She could feel him rising and stretching his wings; he was irritated at not being able to see her or touch her. _I am coming – _

_No, _said Arya, throwing away the quilts and rolling out of the small bed. _I will come to you, I do not think Niduen will miss me. Wait a moment._

She found her clothes from yesterday, a little put out at having to wear them, for she had always been able to be comfortable in Ellesmera, never mind the wars outside. She had caught the tunic and leggings from her bedroom as Niduen had marched her out of the ruined house; but they would not have been her first choice, had she had one.

Arya opened the door quietly and padded through Niduen's house; she could feel Niduen's presence in her own bedroom, apparently still asleep. Niduen had never been one for early risings. The sun seemed early, and the birds bright, so she did not worry about missing their appointment at the Training Fields. The door – a wooden one, rather unusual – did not creak and Arya shut it quietly behind her; and then, sword and belt in hand and belt flapping freely, she ran at full speed to the sheltered glade that Eridor had slept in last night.

_Hello, _he said, pausing in the middle of scratching his head against a stunted pine tree that was starting to bend precariously. _That was very quick._

_Yes, _said Arya with a smile, _but imagine how it will be when we can fly together._

Eridor rubbed his nose one last time on the tree, then stepped away from it; it sprang back upright, and poked him in the side. _Then we will be as much Rider and dragon as Eragon and Saphira are, I suppose. _

Arya leant her sword against the poor tree and stared at Eridor, that guilt rising steadily in her. _I have been very unfair to you. If it had not been for me and my pride, we would have no need for ... for all of this. _Eridor's claws curled in the mulch as he started to sit down again. Arya stared, unseeing, as the ivory dug into the brown. _It is not that I do not trust you ... I love you more than any other thing in Creation, Eridor, and I have always loved you. _

Eridor rumbled deep in his chest, and lifted his wings. He knew, if no one else did, that for she, Arya, to admit such a thing was something she would say only to him; and he knew also that she had never said such a thing to anyone in her life. _I know, _he said softly. Arya clicked her tongue nervously, trying to gather her thoughts.

_But I have never been used to talking freely with with people I loved ... My mother I was wary of, for she was easily upset, and my father died when I was very young ... Niduen was forbidden from seeing me then, and moved away ... so even before I went with Brom to the Varden, I had started to keep my thoughts to myself; I am sorry, Eridor, but you see? I could not even break the habit for you. _

Eridor could feel her misery; he nudged her with his nose, and gently manoeuvred her so that she sat on his foreleg. _There is nothing you can do or have done to stop me trusting you, and supporting you; I will always love you, and I do not care._

Arya slumped against his chest, feeling the now-familiar prickling behind her eyes and not bothering to try and dispel it. _You were right, Eridor: age is not wisdom._

_No, _he agreed, _it certainly isn't._

_I do trust you, you know. I never deliberately tried to ... keep those things from you; I thought you would be happier not knowing. _

_Now that **is **foolish, _Eridor said, blowing a puff of smoke onto the crown of her head. _For there would always be a barrier, and how could we talk freely? I knew ever since I could understand speech well enough that you did not tell me the whole truth about things that worried you, and that you were scared to tell me of things like – like the Shade._

_You never pushed me, _said Arya with growing wonder. _You knew I was doing so, and you did not push me. Oh, **Eridor **... _Here was her dragon, accomplished, courteous, proud and kind, though so very young, yet he seemed to understand so many things so much better than she. _Words cannot describe you, _she said eventually, weakly, _because words fail me. _

_I am a dragon, _Eridor said quietly He curled his ling neck over her head, and rested his cheek against hers; his steaming breath curled in the cold morning. _I am a dragon; and I need no words._

_--_

Eragon watched woodpecker on a nearby tree trying to peck a hole in the somewhat rotten bark, and sighed. It was not a particularly lovely morning, in his opinion: mist rose from the trees, and his breath steamed; everything was damp and the same dampness had settled on Daiithil. He saw the the tiny droplets slip down the polished hilt, and his feeling of gloom intensified.

_Where _was Arya?!

_Hello, little one. _Saphira dropped quite suddenly and quietly from the grey sky. She, too, glistened with moisture droplets that rolled jerkily down her flanks and between her eyes._ You know, I could not find a single mouse away from its burrow, let alone a rabbit!_

_Did you eat? _Eragon asked, somewhat concerned. Saphira flicked her wings, and water spattered all over Eragon.

_Oops. _She blithely ignored Eragon's exaggerated gasps of outrage and carried on. _I had to go after a deer, but it took longer than I had planned. I wanted to be here when Arya arrived. _She glanced about with a majestic blue eye. _But she is not here._

_No,_ said Eragon, feeling the damp starting to really make him cold. _She is not._

_Ah,_ said Saphira. _Do you suppose this because of her inability to measure time, or is it because she is upset over last night? _

Eragon rubbed his chin, smooth because of the spell he used every morning. _Should we .. visit her?_

_Oh yes, _said Saphira decidedly. _It is cold, and you will catch a chill, waiting for her until the cows come home. _

_Good idea. _Eragon pulled his cloak about him and checked the girth on her saddle. _Where is Niduen's house?_

_Close to Arya's, I think,_ said Saphira vaguely. _We will find it – but surely Arya is not still asleep?_

_I have never known her to sleep after she has woken once already. _Eragon paused. _If she is still in bed ... perhaps we should let her sleep._

_Ah well. _Saphira stretched her and leant back to launch herself back into the air. _Maybe, but there is no harm in a walk through Tialdari Hall and perhaps wandering our way along to Niduen's house. _

Eragon grinned, looking along her neck, where her face held an utterly absorbed looked. _You are sneaky._

_I merely have an alternative way of looking at things. Don't be fussy. _

Eragon chuckled, but not for long: it was too cold and damp in the air to accommodate the taking in of quick breath, and his every limb seemed to be infused with the same wetness that ran down Saphira's sides.

_Not to be fussy, _he said, _but it is very cold. Where is Tialdari Hall? _

_There, _she said with a sigh. _I am going to land now, don't worry yourself. _

She found a gap in the canopy and drifted down to the ground; Eragon slid off quickly; now the water was rolling off the leaves and onto his bare head. _What a miserable day,_ he remarked in kind. Saphira chuckled deep in her throat where it sounded like boulders grinding against one another.

_Little one, you are becoming soft with all this sleeping in beds and eating prepared food._

Eragon found a path, although it was rather muddy, and stepped across a bare primrose bed to stand on it. He found his balance and looked back at Saphira. _Come on, then, my Lady. I do not think I have become so fat that I cannot traverse Tialdari Hall. _

Saphira poked his mind gently and puffed a large cloud of smoke onto his head. _It is only a matter of time, little one._

--

Niduen reached around to the back of her gown, deftly lacing it up, and tying the strings swiftly. She would normally have taken more time over this, and to put on a warmer chemise, but she had checked just five minutes ago and had not found Arya's presence in the bedroom she was occupying.

She was not exactly worried – that was Eridor's job – but the both of them had been distraught last night and Niduen, Arya's friend from childhood, remembered that Arya had once been rash and unreasonable at time of crisis and prone to spontaneous, foolish actions.

With this vaguely unsettling thought in her mind, Niduen hurried from her bedroom, twisting her dark hair into a bun at the back of her neck as she swept through her house and down into the gardens of Tialdari Hall below.

--

Arya sat in great comfort on Eridor's thick front leg, his breath very warm and his scales heated from the fire inside him. Small drops of moisture dripped at odd intervals, but she was very warm, and Eridor was making that thrumming that seemed to come from deep in his chest and was so comforting.

She leant her head against the smooth scales of his neck, enjoying the peace; and it was true peace. She and Eridor had been training in the shadow of the war, and the worry that the Varden would fall, that Eragon would be called away to fight, and that the fortress of Gil'ead would fall to the Imperial forces. Even those things she had unconsciously kept from Eridor weighed on her mind: but now she would show Eridor everything, she knew she would be able to confide in him every one of her foolish, weak fears; and she did not have to worry that he would be disgusted with her for any reason, or that he would betray her confidence.

So it was equilibrium; it was peace. It felt good, and Eridor, watching the half-smile on her face, was very glad. It was only after Arya started to look more and more sleepy that he spoke.

_What time is it? _

_Oh ... _Arya blinked and squinted up at the dull sun veiled in cloud. It was almost impossible to tell where it was. _Perhaps an hour after sunrise. Why do you want to know? _

_Weren't you going to meet Eragon at the training fields this morning? _

_Oh – yes! _She jumped to her feet with an unpleasant lurch in her stomach. Suddenly both dragon and Rider remembered the thing that Eragon and Saphira were going to tell them, the thing Eragon had not wanted to say out loud in the dark of night. _We must hurry._

This time, she buckled her sword belt on securely, and gave Eridor's mind a prod to make him hurry. He could be quick when he wanted to, but Arya had left the little copse before Eridor had risen above the bare canopy of the forest.

_You will fall over if you go much faster, _remarked Eridor, watching from his much greater height in the sky as she jumped over a wide brook.

_No, I won't. Don't be silly._ She ran faster; it was easier to run, to see nothing but the flashing ground and silver streams that ran along the forest floor, because she not have to think about it; about why she was hurrying. Whatever Eragon was going to tell them, she would not dwell on it.

Eridor touched her mind very gently, and Arya almost brushed him aside with the usual vague thought that he did not need to know: but then she caught herself, and slowly, almost without noticing, let all the dark, writhing fears of the unknown thing filter through to him.

He didn't say anything, and neither did she: there was nothing to say. But Arya approached the training grounds with a little more confidence, and she looked around at the empty field, ready to meet Eragon and Saphira.

_Oh,_ said Arya, looking at the field that was most definitely empty. Eridor landed by her side, the gusts of wind from his wings blowing her hair about.

He lowered his head to stare at her._ We agreed to meet them here, did we not?_

_Yes, we certainly did._

_Well. _Arya could hear the frown in his voice._ Where are they, then?_

--

Niduen strode quickly across the wet grass, the hem of her gown becoming steadily wetter and much heavier. She followed the thin strip of lawn down to the copse she had shown Eridor last night; it was shameful to her, that she had shown a dragon, mightiest of all races, a lowly forest copse as a place to sleep.

But Eridor had not complained; he was, Niduen thought, extraordinarily humble. He had not batted an eyelid.

All the same, Niduen approached the copse with a certain amount of trepidation, hoping that Arya was there, but not daring to find out by feeling for their minds with her own: she felt it would be a gross breach of etiquette to do so.

She brushed away the deadened brambles that were particularly abundant just there, and fought her way into the centre of of the copse; but even as she did so, she knew I was no use. Eridor would have been noticeable a long time before, and if he was not here, then neither was Arya.

"_Arya_ ..." she sighed. Niduen was quite determined not to run about after her like a mother hen, determined not to be nursemaid to her occasionally rash cousin.

But what had been Islanzadi's last words to her niece? _"Look after Arya, Niduen. If – __**when**__ – I return from this war, I want her to still be safe." _

''I want her to be safe''. _That_ was easier said than done. Niduen knew perfectly well that if Arya thought she had to go somewhere, do her duty, then nothing in all of Creation could stop her. It was like asking an avalanche not to fall, or entreating the wind not to blow.

Niduen gathered her skirts about her before struggling back through the bramble thicket, the state of her skirt not adding to her disgruntled mood. Despite her resolve not to run about after Arya, she still felt she had to at least know where she was ... perhaps she could ask Bellaen to help her search – No, Arya would never forgive her for involving him ...

She marched back up the lawn, dress still held in her fists. Why hadn't Arya said anything this morning, instead of just disappearing? She could even have thanked Niduen for the use of her house! 'Twould have been nice. After all, last night had been very –

Niduen stopped in her determined dash across the lawn, one slippered foot poised in mid air. Of course! Arya had agreed (or rather, made Eragon agree) to meet her at the training fields. No matter how ill, or upset, or tired Arya had felt his morning, she would have strived to be there on time, for Arya hated to be thought less of, especially in front of someone she respected – namely Eragon.

Hugely relieved, Niduen turned direction and ran with quick, sure footsteps that even Arya, veteran of many battles and ambushes, could not have matched. Her eagerness to make sure her cousin was well made her steps even lighter.

--

Eragon sighed. Hunting in the Spine had never been as exhausting as hunting for Arya. She seemed to have a very wonderful way of utterly disappearing from Ellesmera, but without leaving the boundaries of that city. She was in none of the places she frequented, nor at Niduen's house, nor at the Menoa Tree.

It was infuriating, though Eragon was not thinking of the long, miserable wait he had had at the training fields, but about the fact that she might be ill – perhaps a chill after all that wind and rain – and he was trying hard not to be alarmed.

It was easier said than done.

_I don't understand how we could have missed them, especially Eridor, _he said to Saphira, leaning on her side. _This is ridiculous. _

Saphira snorted, and a small jet of flame came from her nose. _It is ridiculous that we cannot find such noticeable individuals, or that you are worried when you know perfectly well that she is safe?_

_All right, _said Eragon with a frown. _I know. I have not your complacency. _

Saphira gave a large, loud sigh. _I can understand, though, little one. _She paused, and then said a little tentatively, _You hide your feelings for Arya very well. If I did not know you as I do, I would almost think they were not there. _

_Yes, well, _said Eragon. _That is what she wants. _

_Ah, Eragon. _Saphira touched his head with her nose gently. _I knew when I felt your touch on my egg that you would become the man you are. It is not what you want, to hide your feelings._

_No. But I am becoming better at it. _

_Yes, you are. _She sighed again. _It does not make me happy. _

_But, _Eragon said with a certain amount of stubbornness, _it will make Arya happier. As I said ... it is what she wants._

_I respect Arya greatly, _she said; _but sometimes I think that she herself does not know quite what she wants. _

Eragon said nothing for a long moment, pondering her words. _What do you mean, Saphira? _he asked eventually, resigned to ask more questions.

_Simply what I said: do not make any drastic decisions by Arya's words, for she is not as sure in her mind as you think she is._

_A warning, Saphira? _

_No. A caution._

_--_

Niduen paused in her dash to the training fields, distracted by the sight of Saphira standing below some tall redwoods, while Eragon stood a little way away from her, arms folded; his jaw was clenched tightly.

Were they arguing? Unlikely. But Niduen approached anyway, with the thought that, even if they were not with Arya and Eridor, they would know they were.

"Argetlam!"

Eragon turned, and, seeing her, smiled, though it seemed to cost him quite a bit to do so. "Good morning, Niduen."

Niduen blinked at being greeted in such a way; the traditional elven greeting had been at the tip of her tongue. "Good morning, Eragon. Are you well?"

"Yes," he said with the air of someone not really listening to the question. "I don't suppose you know where Arya is, Niduen?"

"No," said Niduen with a sinking heart. "I thought you would, I thought you were going to meet at the training fields."

"We were ... Saphira and I waited for a long time, but she did not come. She is not ... ill?"

"Oh, I have not seen her today. But I ..." Niduen paused. Why was she so eager to find Arya? Of course she was not ill – she was an elf, strong and healthy. And no physical harm could have befallen her, for who in Ellesmera would strike her? "I ... wanted to speak to her,"

"So do I," said Eragon, still with an absent air. "Where are you going to now?"

"The training fields ... but obviously, there is no point in going if Arya is not there." Niduen dropped her dress from her fists and folded her arms against the chill. Eragon blinked, and glanced at Saphira.

"No, you are right; perhaps we just missed each other, and they are waiting for us, do you think?"

"Perhaps." Niduen wiggled her cold toes in her slippers. "In that case, I shall go anyway. It is not too far."

"Is it urgent?" Eragon inquired, looking, Niduen rather suspected, at the ripped and muddied skirt that was at odds with her clean bodice.

"I have nothing particularly to say to her," said Niduen, aware that her hair was starting to fall down as well; what must she look like?

"Saphira and I will go back to the training fields," Eragon said, a little too kindly for Niduen's pride, "and we will see if Arya and Eridor are there. If they are, we will let you know immediately."

Niduen stared at Eragon, quite sure that he thought she was tired, upset and cold; he was far too kindly, and Niduen, raised in the careful courts of Ellesmera and also by her father, did not know what to make of it. Perhaps this was why Arya enjoyed to be in his company? She and Arya had, after all, had much the same upbringing.

But whatever the reason, she, Niduen, also had an excellent sense of judgement, and she felt that Eragon was sincere. "Very well, Eragon. That would be helpful; I have arranged to meet my father for lunch, and he does not appreciate unpunctuality."

"I see," said Eragon, and Niduen saw the look of dislike pass across his angled face, and remembered how he had spoken out for Arya so frequently in front of Evadarr's anger, and she sighed inwardly. How terrible, that family members could dislike each other so very much.

"In that case, we will go now," he carried on, walking to Saphira and putting his hand under her girth, presumably to check how tight it was. "We would not want you to be late," he said, and Niduen was surprised at how even his voice was; it did not betray any dislike of her father, and she was grateful. It was hard enough in Arya.

"True," she replied, a little late. "I will go back, then. Good day, Eragon. I hope Arya is at the training fields."

"So do I," Eragon said, and Niduen thought for a moment that in his eyes she read the same annoying, irrational worry that she herself had felt. In that moment she warmed to Eragon, a mortal, more than she ever had done; she saw that he was indeed an adult, both in the eyes of mortal men, and also in the eyes of the elves; and also that despite the malicious whispers she had heard, Saphira had made a good choice of Rider. "We will hurry, Niduen," he was saying, and she nodded, thinking deeply.

"Tell me if you find her," she said, and turned her back on Eragon, for she knew that time was nearing noon, for it was true that her father would not be pleased to find her in such a bedraggled state, especially as she had been running after Arya.

She was quite far away when she realised that she had might have been rather rude.

--

Saphira breasted a very large lot of damp, dense fog, and dropped closer to the treetops; it was with relief that Eragon saw the sandy floor of the training fields, and with even greater relief he saw Eridor's bright scales by the edge of the field.

_Oh, good, _said Saphira fervently. _This weather is cruel for flying. _

Eragon agreed, but didn't bother to say anything. Saphira dropped again, further, and landed with a slight skid on the sandy ground. Eragon got off, hurrying towards Eridor, and also, presumably, Arya.

_Hello, Eragon,_ Eridor said quite pleasantly. _This weather is foul, is it not?_

Saphira chortled through their link, but Eragon was not to be distracted. _Are you well, Eridor? And where is Arya? _

"Eragon!" Arya had ducked under Eridor's neck, and he saw the sword at her hip; so she had meant to spar with him. "You are late."

"We were her for a long while this morning!" exclaimed Eragon. "You did not come."

"I went to see Eridor," she replied. "He slept in a glade close by Niduen's house."

"But ... why didn't you come sooner?" Eragon inquired cautiously, for Arya held her head very high, a sign, he knew, meant that she was ill at ease with herself.

"I forgot," she said, with great reluctance. "I apologise."

"Oh, no," said Eragon quickly, "you don't have to. But we were ... were ..." he trailed off, and bit back his words. "Niduen wishes to know you are well, I told her we would let her know intermediately."

"Immediately?" repeated Arya, and Eragon saw with a sinking heart that she looked distinctly irritated. "Let her know what?"

Saphira was still chuckling. Eragon ignored her. "Let her know that you are here, that is all, Arya.

She did not see you this morning, and wondered where you were."

"Why did she not contact me, then?" Arya frowned, and Eragon hoped she was sidetracked.

"I don't know ... perhaps she thought it was rude." No elf in Ellesmera had ever contacted Saphira, and Lifaen had told Eragon that they considered it a formidable breach of etiquette.

"She is family, Eridor would not have minded!" Arya said, but she did not pursue it: she would speak to Niduen soon, thank her for her help and her hospitality. It was only at odd moments that Arya was so grateful to the few remaining family members she had left. "Are we going to spar, then?" she asked abruptly, knowing full well that the reason they had agreed to meet here was so Eragon could tell her and Eridor what he had not told them in the night; but she wondered what his answer would be – would he say no?

"No. It is getting towards noon, and we have not many hours of daylight left. If ..." Eragon hesitated, the fatal words that would explain starting to fill his mind "If you still desire to know, I will tell you, but ... it can wait, if you wish."

"No," Arya said immediately, and her eyes flashed. "I will not have these ... fantasies in my mind. And I can do nothing about it until I know what I am trying to stop!"

Eragon gritted his teeth, for the prospect of explaining to her that the souls of dead humans were echoing through her filled with shame, for he also knew he could nothing about it. "You can't, Arya," he said quietly but with great intensity. "You can't do anything about it. I don't know how it happened, but I can't change it. I am sorry."

He was sorry, deeply, painfully sorry; but Arya seemed not to hear him. "What do you mean? Did you make it happen, did you – ?"

"_No_!" Eragon said vehemently. "I did not want you and Eridor to have to deal with what Saphira and I have, we would never have agreed otherwise –"

"Never have what?" asked Arya, and there was a look of alarm in her face; she thought he had done something terrible. "Eragon, _what is happening to Eridor and I_?!"

Eragon folded his arms, and pitied her for what he would tell her. He caught her eyes and met her gaze solemnly, and gave her her answer.

"It is the Vault of Souls."

--

Oh, well. Almost pointless, too long and daft, but the next chapter, believe me, is where things start happening, I mean really start happening!

Woah ... I am so tired. I didn't know how stressed I was about my parents thinking of reconciling (Furious, vengeful and starting to shoot again, yes, but not stressed) until I burst into tears because my mum ate my Cornish pasty.

I haven't cried for AGES, it's shaming!

Still, the target was a ragged mess by the time I'd finished with it. So was the tin can. Thanks for reading, guys!


	44. Oak and Rose

Hey, hope everyone had good Valentine's Day, sorry for the long wait! Alos I did not repky to two lovely reviews. I will PM the two I did not reply to. I apologise.

**But thanks to everyone who did!!**

Chapter Forty-Four.

Oak and Rose.

There were grey clouds gathering over Du Weldenvarden, large, dark, heavy grey clouds that rolled angrily in the still air; no breeze broke the humid atmosphere, even on the lofty Stone of Broken Eggs. A storm was coming; there was an ominous edge to the silence between Eragon and Arya, and Saphira and Eridor were quiet.

"The Vault of Souls – it is not real," Arya said, her face hard; she did not look at Eragon but at the leaden sky.

"It is," he said, ignoring her anger, because he had known she would be so, though he was glad Saphira had made them come to the Stone, so that no over-long ears could hear their words. "But it is ... it is beyond normal evil, Arya. And so, so old. It was made before the Dragon Wars, when the elves were mortal. They had too much power for ones who lived only short lives."

"Where is your authority to say that?" asked Arya with a certain amount of snap in her voice. "Our oldest histories record nothing about it."

"I was told so by someone older than any record or histories in any library in Alagaesia," Eragon replied, remembering Kuthian's lined, worn face. "His name is Kuthian." Eragon watched Arya's face for any sign of recognition. But there was none.

"Who is he, and how does he know so much?"

"His name is Kuthian," Eragon said again, "and he was a senior scribe to King Palancar."

Arya's shoulders dropped in shock, and she turned to look at him with wide eyes. "What do you mean?!"

"He is trapped in the Vault of Souls; he was made caretaker of the whole foul thing."

"Eragon ... how do you know this?" Arya opened her mouth to say something else, but then stopped; Eragon could read in her wide eyes the fear that she rarely showed. "It is impossible, to trap someone after they die; _everyone_ passes into the void!"

"So say the elves," replied Eragon gravely; "But mortals think differently."

"So is Kuthian a long-lost God of Palancar," Arya said scornfully, "coming to prove the beliefs of the elves wrong?"

"No." Eragon resisted the impulse to frown at her; she had never, in all the time he had known her, sounded so bitter. "How much do you know of the Vault of Souls, though?"

"I ..." she frowned. "Nothing. The name is a little familiar, but that is all."

"Then will you let me explain it to you?" Eragon asked tentatively; he still could not bare the thought of Arya and Eridor being weighed down the burden of the Vault, as he and Saphira had been.

"Why?" Perhaps she saw the apprehension in his face, and wondered why he did not want to speak. "Why is it so terrible?"

"It really does what I said it did, Arya," Eragon said, the heaviness weighing on his heart. "It catches the Souls of those who have died, and it holds them, timeless, captured forever, until someone comes to take the power, and harness the power of the Souls, for they have great energy."

Arya's long hair swayed slightly as she shook her head. "It is against all known laws of the world to do that; it _is _impossible. The magic it would take would be ... more than anyone in this land could conjure."

"I do not know exactly how it was done," replied Eragon, still with that reluctance; "But it was. Perhaps there was more power in the world in those early days, or perhaps they had already trapped some souls before they made it. But in any case, a group of strong, learned mages, both elves and men, came together; and they worked for many long years to make the Vault of Souls, for their own power had corrupted them, and they only wanted more.

"So the Vault of Souls was created. But the one thing they could not do was slow the years that passed them by, and they died one after the other, before they could use their new ..." Eragon's face contorted. "... _powers_. But they had not been able to bare the thought of all their hard work going to waste, and they set the first person to be caught in their net, a scribe by the name of Kuthian, to be its guardian: he has watched the comings and goings of every death, birth and battle in Alagaesia, even as he waits for his long imprisonment to be ended."

"Why did the Vault not fail when the mages died?" Arya was staring at him, and there was look of slowly dawning horror in her eyes.

"It was the nature of their magic ... other than that, I cannot explain it," Eragon replied sombrely.

"The Dragon Wars ... they were so many thousands of years ago." She glanced at Eragon, looking askance.

"Yes," he said; "and think of how many millions of people have passed away since then." Their eyes met, and they shared a quick, deep understanding, a vague picture of the millions of shadowy dead that waited, hidden, imprisoned beneath the land.

Eragon was silent for a little while, waiting for Arya to absorb it all: seeing as she had more time to do so than he had had, they might as well make use of it. "When a Shade is created," he said eventually, "the spirits that come from it are a lot like the people trapped in the Vault of Souls."

"I never knew that," Arya said, her lip curling. "Though perhaps we should have guessed it, knowing how foul Durza was."

Eragon felt, just quickly brushing his mind, Eridor's anger at the mention of Durza; he hurried on. "After Galbatorix killed the Rider who helped him steal Shruikan's egg, he found a Shade, and was taught by him for a long time, until the search for him conducted by the Lord Vrael had died down. I think the Shade had discovered the Vault of Souls, and he passed the knowledge onto his apprentice." Now Eragon's own lip curled in disgust. "From then on, Alagaesia's fate was sealed: no Rider could match him with such power as he wielded."

Arya saw the shadow that passed over his face: her voice was soft when she spoke. "But there is still hope."

"Aye, there is," Eragon replied, his voice sounding harsh compared to hers. "But not the way I would have hoped. Galbatorix takes the souls by force ... he bends them to his will, and uses their energy – if he chooses to use them, they have no power, for they are only shadows of their living selves. They loose their identities when he takes them into his mind to use as energy."

The disgust in Arya's face was even more pronounced, and Eragon dreaded the words he was about to speak. "Oromis knew about it: he knew how it functioned, and he knew where it was located. He told us, the very hour he died."

Arya's mouth fell open very slightly, showing her teeth. Eragon carried on, wanting it to be over, wanting her to know the truth as soon as possible. "We had no chance to think ... we had to go to Gil'ead, we had to stop Murtagh – it was our only chance to get Eridor's egg."

He turned, and caught Arya's eyes, willing her not to be too angry, to understand. "We remembered Solembum's words: we took Daiithil from under the roots of the Menoa Tree, and then ... Then we went to the Vault of Souls in the Tower of Utgard."

"Utgard!" Arya stared. "But Utgard is a ruin – it has not been used for centuries, and no one has set foot there since ... since ..."

"Since Galbatorix killed Vrael and Itilara," Eragon finished for her. "Their bones are still there, where he left them."

Arya's fists curled into balls, and she snarled. "Filthy monster! How dare he! Not only did he kill his Lord, but also one who was almost kin. Almost all of my people remember Vrael and Itilara, they watched him walk through this very city, and saw him sitting in court in the city of Doru Areaba! Do you see why we cannot forget? The wounds are too deep, and the pain is too strong. When your memory reaches back further than any mortal, then the things you have seen stay with you. We do not forget – _**I **_will not forget." She met his eyes with a fierce fire. "My father will _not_ have died in vain."

"If we defeat the Empire," Eragon said, hardly daring to utter the words, for it was too terrifying to think of for long; "Then will you come with me to Utgard? We will give Vrael and Itilara the resting place they deserve."

They still stared at each other with a strange intensity that seemed to crackle like a storm on the Hardarac Desert. Arya's lips parted slowly, and she spoke with a low voice, though there was no one to hear.

"I will."

There was a pause, and only the crunch of the dragons' claws on the old animal bones were heard. Then, seemingly with quite and effort, Arya took her eyes from his, and she spoke. "What happened on Utgard?"

"We went in ... the walls were falling apart, and the stairs were unsafe ... when we got to the top, we saw the two skeletons. We were shocked, I wasn't careful enough. I walked forward, and then it all went white ..." Eragon gritted his teeth, remembering the panic he had felt, disembodied, and separated from Saphira. "It was terrible; I could not feel Saphira, I could see nothing – I could not even tell if my eyes were open or not!"

Eragon paused, but seeing Arya's expectant face, carried on with a sigh. "But it lifted; and I was standing in a cave; I couldn't see the ceiling, or the other walls. But Saphira was there, thank the Gods, or I do not know what I would have done ..." Eragon scowled. "The relief at seeing her was greater than any horror the Vault could inspire in me."

He glanced at Arya, and knew she understood that particular fear. "Kuthian came ... he talked to us, explained to us what I have been telling you ... I do not understand him, Arya: he is so old, and has been used so terribly by almost everyone, yet he talked about my brother, and Morzan, and Brom as if they were nothing but mutual acquaintances. I pitied him so much, Arya, but it was no use to him: he is beyond any emotions that a living being could feel."

"Pity is no use to any one, anyway," Arya said; her face was hard. "It is as useless as a snake without fangs."

"Perhaps," Eragon said after long pause; "But I felt it nonetheless." He tried to look Arya in the face again, but she was still looking out at the darkening sky. "We despised Murtagh, by then, and too long has Morzan's memory befouled our thoughts. We took the Souls that came to us."

Now Arya looked at him, and he recoiled, for the anger in her gaze was unmistakeable: never had Arya looked at him in such a way.

"How could you! You have just been telling me how – how it is so evil, so terrible, and yet you have done exactly the same!" She bared her teeth, rage emanating form every inch of her. "The Riders of old were arrogant, but not so arrogant as that! How could you – !"

Eragon cut her off, teeth clenched. "Let me finish!" The anger did not in the least abate in Arya's beautiful face. "Kuthian expected us to take what we wanted, as had my brother and his blood-traitor dragon. We did _not,_" he said emphatically, gazing with great intensity at Arya. "They came to us, and we told them that if they wanted to be in peace, to die properly, to see Galbatorix overthrown and the Vault of Souls destroyed, then Saphira and I would take their energy; and we would use it to do _just that._"

"What do you mean?" Arya replied heatedly, utterly unabashed. "How was it possible – ?"

"It was just their goodwill," said Eragon quietly, and suddenly he seemed to be far away, not aware that she was angry, that she wanted him to explain. "Kuthian was ready for me to make my order for as much as I wanted, and he would have been powerless to stop me ... but he called Brom, he got Brom, and Brom talked to us ..."

"_Brom_!" spluttered Arya, and Eragon jumped, coming out of his trance . "Brom! What do you mean, Brom?!"

"Oh, I ... I ..." Eragon winced, because he knew he truly had landed himself in trouble: this would have been the best time to guard his tongue."The spells that weave that place together are like a ... a net; and as such, some souls are caught while others are not." Eragon lifted his head, feeling that particular pull on his heart that was painful, but almost in some ways comforting: for it was at least proof that Brom had lived, wherever he might be now. "Brom was one of those, and we spoke to him, though he is dead."

"Brom ...?" Arya repeated, but her voice was faint and she stared at Eragon with a single-minded intensity. "I ... what did he ... I mean," she said quickly, realising that what Brom said was Eragon's business and his alone; "Was it good to see him again ... ?" She knew that this was not appropriate, that she had no right to be asking; but a sudden image of her handsome, humorous, loving father entered her mind, and she wondered how strange it would be to talk to a dead person .. to her father.

Eragon seemed to find nothing strange about the question; his eyes were turned far away as he answered, but answer he did. "It was good. It seems even death cannot change Brom of Kuasta, for he gave me advice and lessons even in the short time we talked." A faint smile came to his lips as Arya watched. "But he talked to me about my mother ... and I am glad. It is a cloud gone from my mind."

"Was it only them you spoke with?"

"No." Eragon remembered the pale faces of Deynor, former leader of the Varden, and the thousands of dead soldiers he had brought with him from the nothingness he had come from. "There was Deynor of the Varden – " and here Arya jumped, for she herself had known Deynor for many years before his death. "And many thousands of soldiers of the Varden. Elves, and men, and dwarves ... Knights, squires ... even banner boys; and also Riders." But now he looked at Arya, to see what she would say. "We also talked with Korgan, founder of Farthen Dur and Isidar Mithrim."

"Oh," said Arya with a jolt of surprise, and then remembered the helm of the Hammer and Anvil that was in Eragon house, and that he was, by law, a dwarf: if she had not had such respect for him, she would have smiled. Instead she was careful to guard her words. "But he lived so long ago ..."

"I know," said Eragon, and scowled again. "I am so very glad that none other of my family is trapped there: the thought of Aunt Marian, alone in that place ..." She saw the muscles on his neck contract in anger."But she is not," he finished with a sigh, "so I am grateful."

And suddenly Arya gave a small gasp, for into her mind had burst her family, all dead, all gone: her father, so strong, so noble; and Niduen's mother, gentle, pretty ... Faolin and Glenwing, brave as lions ... And she saw them in her minds' eye, in a dark place, pale, lost; utterly despairing ...

Without knowing she turned sharply to Eragon, bumping abruptly into his chest; and she grabbed his arm. "My father?! Was my father there?! Tell me, Eragon!"

"No! Do you think I would have hidden it from you if one of your kin was caught there?"

"Good," said Arya, not caring if she sounded brusque, for she felt dizzy and her sight was blurring, as if a sudden illness had come upon her: she was still holding onto Eragon's arm, and she leant on it with a thankfulness she would not have even dared to feel if she had been well. But to her shaky surprise, Eragon's own skin was clammy, and she felt his shoulder tremble. Dimly she felt both dragons calling loudly out to them, but her sight was fading. Eragon was trying to support her, but he also was afflicted; and she tried to find something to look at, to focus on, but all was blurry. She could not tell if it was her eyes that made it happen, but the green of the forest canopy was fading away: and then all was black.

_The two dragons' silhouettes were very stark against the fading light of the summer sky; the sun was red in the air, and the clouds were bright in its radiance. They stood at the brink of the Stone, and their heads met and touched with a tenderness that was obvious._

_**Shall we make a home here, then? **the male said, and his words were grave. **For truly, nowhere else would I go.**_

_**But we are travellers, Brom and I, **his mate said, and her voice was solemn. **We have no home, nor we do we need one; our homes are in our minds, not this worldly place we stand on. **_

_**You know that I love you,** he replied, **and would come with you to the ends of the world if you were to go. But Saphira! We are mates, and I will offer you what I can. Our eggs shall be born here, were this choice left to me. And we will nurture them, and care for them; and we shall love them. Will you not agree with me, my mate?**_

_**I will bear our children; and I will love them whatever happens to me. I will do as you wish, but remember that we are free; and that with Brom I belong. This Rider that has turned renegade, the young man ... he killed Master Allan of Teirm. He has disappeared, but we cannot find him. Vroengard does not regard him as a threat, but Brom and I do. We think he will kill again. We think he is dangerous. **_

_**He **killed** him?** hissed Saphira's mate, and he growled. **Then he is mad and foolish. The Riders are strong – I saw the citadel on Doru Areaba, and I can tell it is strong, little as I know about your stone castles. **_

_**True, **Saphira replied, and smiled, rubbing her head along her mate's forest-green neck. **But the strength of our citadel is nothing compared to the will of the ones who command it. Vrael and Itilara know that he must be caught – I believe he goes by the name of Galbatorix, though perhaps he has changed that – and Brom thinks that they will ask us to catch him, perhaps with Morzan and Skale.**_

_**When?** He asked urgently. **Surely not now, not while you are – **_

_**I do not know,** Saphira replied. But seeing her mate's discomfort she added: **If he asks now, I will not go. If he commands us, then Skale and Morzan shall take my place, much as I detest the man. **_

_**Good, **he replied fervently. **I cannot abide the thought of you being hurt, despite the scant care you have for your own hide. **_

_Saphira laughed, leaning her cheek with a loving movement on his. **You do enough worrying the both of us – and soon our family, too! Will you be boiling their meat and seasoning it, Galeru?**_

_**Meat, **Galeru replied with dignity, **should not be mixed with water, nor sprinkled with your dwarf-herbs! Have you acquired Brom's tastes?**_

_**Do not bait me, **Saphira said genially. **I am feeling a little peckish. **And she bumped his massive shoulder playfully. _

_**You would not, **Galeru said, and laughed; he laughed often,and his voice was merry. _

_**Do not rely on it, **Saphira replied, but there was such love in her eyes when she looked on him that her stern voice was out of place. **I think I shall go back to Brom, now. I will tell him that I will lay my eggs here, rather then than Vroengard. He will understand. **_

_**I know, **said Galeru. **Much as I would hate to tether myself to a person, Brom is a good person. You chose well, Saphira.**_

_Now Saphira laughed, and the steel that was strong in her voice left. **And well I know it! I go now, Galeru, but you must find me a cave tomorrow. **_

_**Ah. Then you must adhere to the customs of my own people and receive the gifts I give you with good grace!**_

_**Oh, no. I need no gifts! Certainly **not_

_**Perhaps you will change your mind later; but remember that our children shall not be born upon the mess of a raven's nest, but that of a dragon's hoard. **_

_**I remember that, **Saphira said softly. **It was your pride that made me notice you, so long ago. I had only ever known the dragons of Vroengard. We came to Kuasta, to the funeral of Brom's father; we saw your colony, but only you stood out. It was your bearing, the way you carried yourself. **Saphira's eyes sparkled. **Though all those I knew then were valiant and brave, never had I met such a one as you. **And she laughed again, pride of her mate resounding in every syllable. _

_**For my part, **said Galeru,**you were by far the most beautiful I had ever seen. Though, **he amended, **you had great wisdom even then, and I foresaw that you would be good to talk to, with your own thoughts and ideas. **He bumped her cheek with his forehead. **And I was right, was I not? **_

_**I suppose so. Your flattery is well advanced. **_

_**So is your abruptness. **_

_**Well matched, Galeru, **Saphira said with a toss of her proud head; there was a scar that ran down the inside of her jaw. **But I am too tired to engage in a debate with you tonight, Master of Words. Tomorrow I will be fine, but I must sleep. **_

_**Of course you must. **Galeru poked her gently to make her go, but briefly they touched, she leaning her head on her neck. **You will have a nest fit for our children by noontide tomorrow, by word of my honour. **_

_**I would never doubt you; I do not need words. But I will hold you to that time. Good night, then, my love. **She flared her wings, a few ragged edges where arrows or swords had pierced the thin membrane, and soared from the Stone of Broken Eggs down to the canopy below. Flaring her wings with great talent, diving at the right times, despite her abnormally large girth; above on the Stone Galeru watched, and there was great love and praise in his gaze ... _

Her eyelids were heavy; perspiration dotted her forehead, and her hair stuck to her face. With an effort Arya made herself open her eyes, and blinked, feeling the sweat even on her eyelids; there almost no light in the sky; she could see nothing else. Her body was heavy, but she felt uncomfortable anyway. Her neck was sore, and even her back hurt. The ground was hard ... but it did not seem to be the ground.

It moved, and she realised in a slow flash that she was lying on Eragon's legs. It was awkward; and only this made her move. She pulled herself up, blinking in the suddenness of a dull sun in a cloud-laden sky.

_Eridor ...? _

He did not answer. With a surge of panic, Arya sat up fumbling about for an even ground; but at that moment Eragon also woke, and as he himself sat up, his torso bumped into her, and they went sprawling again.

"Urgh ..."

Arya scrambled in a rather ungainly way off Eragon's legs, and started to get up, her head spinning. She could hear Eragon doing the same, muttering oaths under his breath. He grabbed her arms, and pulled her up, and with great relief, Arya found she could see Eragon's pale face. His eyes were wide, and his skin clammy.

"What happened?" she asked, voice hoarse; it hurt her throat to talk. Eragon looked past her, and his hands tightened on her arms.

"_Saphira!" _

With a feeling of dread Arya looked over her shoulder to where the dragons had been standing. They were there still, but their eyes were closed, and Eridor's head lay over Saphira's.

Eragon started off across the old, mossy bones, stumbling over the lumps of rock and larger skeletons, and Arya hurried after him, though her vision span and lights flashed before her eyes.

Eridor seemed to be sleeping; his warm breath came in steady gusts, and seemed quite peaceful. Arya dropped to her knees beside him, staring dumbly at him. Eragon staggered to Saphira's side, but, as if he were not allowed, did not touch her.

"Sleeping?" he asked, his voice as rough as hers.

Arya said nothing for a long, silent pause; she stared at Eridor's sleeping form. "I don't know." She reached out her hand, seeing it was trembling, and placed it gently against Eridor's face.

And suddenly he moved, lifted his head, and his eyes were open, wide and bright and clever as always, and she could feel his mind again, his consciousness against hers.

_Eridor –?!_

He blinked, moving his head snake-like way from side to side. Below his neck, Saphira stirred. _Arya, what ...?_

_Are you all right? _She said quickly, holding the small white spikes on him tightly.

_What about **you**?_

_Me?! Why were you asleep?! _

_Why did you faint?_ he demanded, just as stubborn.

_I don't know, I – I ..._ She trailed off, remembering with a sudden jolt the blue dragon named Saphira, with her scarred snout and tattered wings: wise and strong, and battle-hardened. And the green dragon .. untamed, unbonded ...

Eridor's mind jumped against hers, and she knew he had remembered also: so he had seen it, too. Arya instinctively looked at Eragon. He was already talking with Saphira, kneeling by her with an absorbed look on his angled face. They seemed to have recovered quicker than she and Eridor.

"I think we know, now, Arya," he said, and his eyes were tired.

"Know what?" she asked, the dread that had been held at bay coming flooding back.

"The reason you had those dreams – the reason those Souls went to you ..." He stared at her, and there was a deadly intensity in his eyes. "I am sorry, Arya."

"I am not dying, Eragon," Arya said fiercely, and once again the edges of her sight started to darken over; she fought it, and glared back at Eragon.

"I think that we saw was ... a ... a vision, I suppose. But I think it has come also from the Vault of Souls. They know what we are talking about, they know things that we do not." He gazed back at her, and frowned. "It was not the future, for sure. But the female was Saphira, Brom's dragon."

It was clear that these words cost Eragon something to say; and Saphira sighed loudly, her flanks expanding and deflating.

_But Saphira shares only her name with me, _she said, looking not at Arya but at Eridor. _Brom is Eragon's blood, but Saphira was not. She is not ours to mourn. She is yours, Eridor. _

_What do you mean? _Eridor said slowly.

_Saphira had one mate, and laid one clutch of eggs before she died. We never knew who he was – Brom never mentioned him ... _

"He never mentioned Saphira, either" Eragon said abruptly, and Arya glanced at him; his face was expressionless.

_We don't know anything more, but not even my brothers and sisters survived the Fall. They might have been eggs even then. Saphira's stood no chance if they still had not hatched by the time Galbatorix came to power, and she died on Vroengard, in the slaughter of Doru Areaba. But somehow one of her eggs must have survived the slaughter. Alone with his traitorous Wyrdfell on the fallen citadel, he took three unharmed eggs from the place they were kept after being made into a Riders' egg. _

Saphira paused, and Arya saw in her eyes the same strange reluctance that Eragon's held. _Thorn, bonded to Murtagh; you, Eridor, and myself. Whose Thorn's parents are I do not know. But my mother was Vervada and my father Iormungr. Your father was Galeru, and your mother ... your mother was Saphira. _

"No ..." said Arya, eyes wide, looking at Eridor, wondering what he made of this: that Brom had a child had been surprising enough, but that his dragon had also was far more shocking. But that it was Eridor ...

"How do you know?" she asked hollowly; and Eragon looked up, looking as wrung-through as she felt.

"You saw them ... Brom's Saphira, and the leader of the wild dragons. Galeru. They must have made their nest here, as they said. And only Eridor's egg was left." He fell silent, and the shadowed look returned to his eyes.

_Then are we related to each other? _Eridor said, and Arya jumped. He talked as if Saphira had not just uttered the words she had.

Saphira also appeared surprised. _Not by blood. But perhaps we are closer than either of us would be to any other dragon. _

_I am glad. _And now Eragon looked sharply at Eridor, and Saphira's eyes widened. Arya did not understand his words: but Saphira seemed to. She said nothing, and with a sigh that only Arya could feel, Eridor shook his head.

_What am I to say? I had never though about my parents before this. It was unnecessary. _

_Then you should make it necessary! _Saphira snapped. _Family, how can you not care about that?_

_Your parents are dead as well. You never met them._

_No, but my thoughts go with them. Blood is important, even if it no longer flows in their veins._

_I do not think it matters so much, _Eridor said, a hard note to his voice._ It is all red. We all bleed. _

_Be that as it may, _Saphira said, her eyes narrowed, _I hope you realise that Saphira was a great dragon, that she died for what she believed in, that she did her duty to her Lord – _

_I know that, and I despise it and all duties! If the Riders of old had done their duty, they would still be ruling this land, and my father's clan would still be alive. It was duty that brought the race of dragons to its knees. _

_It was their faith in what they had to that made them fight against Galbatorix, _Saphira replied quickly, her tail flicking, a snarl lifting the corners of her mouth. _If they had not that pride to their duty, we would have lain down and waited or Galbatorix to behead us. Talk not of what you do not understand. _

_True, _Eridor said, _I do not understand, for I have had but five minutes to think on this matter; I have given you my thoughts; and I know that they are inaccurate, but I cannot gather all my thoughts and opinions together in moment when you insist on springing surprises on me at odd moments!_

_Very well, _said Saphira, her voice toneless. _Then we will let you think; but, _she told him with deadly earnest, _I expect recompense for those words. You spoke ill._

Eridor said nothing, but the two dragons' eyes met, and they waged a silent war in each others' gaze. Eragon and Arya had not dared to interrupt before: it had been an argument to be fought by Saphira and Eridor only. But now Eragon spoke, and his words were grave.

"It was distrust and rebellion in the other Riders that started the Fall: but such a fate shall not befall us, however else we might meet our ends. We cannot hope to defeat the Black King if we cannot agree, and if we do not trust each other."

"We trust you," Arya said quietly; she thought that Eragon knew this; but Eridor was still silent. She could not be sure of his mood. "And well you know it."

For the first time a small smile came to his face. "Aye, that I do. But if this strife continues, then it must be resolved. We cannot risk it being carried onto the field of battle."

Eridor raised his head high, and for a fleeting moment Arya could see the look of the dragon Galeru in his looks. _You need not worry about that. We are not so foolish. _Saphira dipped her head in agreement. Eragon's smile widened, and Arya had a quick time to realise how much he truly looked and acted like a Leader of the Riders, and how fair his speech was.

"Good." He slapped Saphira genially on her side; but as he turned back to Arya his smile faded. "I owe you both a complete explanation, I fear," he said, and the sudden cheeriness disappeared from the atmosphere. In the distance thunder rumbled.

"Saphira and I have only just realised this, for it was in that vision. Eridor's mother was Saphira, who was bonded to my father; therefore Eridor is connected to my father's dragon; and Saphira is bonded to me, whose blood runs in my veins. It is strange," Eragon said absently, "but Fate works in strange ways, by all accounts. You also carried Saphira's egg, and Saphira and I fought for Eridor's. We are _all _connected, in the oddest of ways.

"Saphira and I have so much energy, so much power form the Vault of Souls ... and because in blood and in other ways you and Eridor are so close ... we believe that the souls were transferred to you. We did not mean for it to happen, we would not have let it happen we'd known, Arya ...!"

"But it did," said Arya, and she nodded at him, to tell him that she held no grudge. "As long as it will not hurt us, then I do not mind."

Eragon sighed again. "It won't hurt you, no ... but the same thing that happened last night could happen again. You have to let Eridor take the Souls that enter your mind."

"How?"

"Eridor will do it, I know," Eragon replied. "When I sleep, I can feel them at the back of my mind. They whisper to me: everything that could go wrong, everything I dread." He clenched his jaw and did not meet her gaze. "The Varden fallen, Orik and his – our – Clan destroyed. Nasuada dead, Roran, Katrina, Saphira ..." he shook his head, and Arya felt her heart tug: she had not known this – had hardly even noticed that he was in such a dilemma.

"Just go to sleep, do not worry about it ... if Eridor feels your distress he will stop it, and he will take them into his own mind, I think. You just have to ... let your guard down for him. It will happen naturally. Do not worry."

"I am not worrying, Eragon," she said with a frown to make sure he knew she meant it, and was pleased that her head did not spin any more. He ignored her.

"But a warning, Arya," said Eragon, and Arya tensed. "If it ... if it does not happen, you must tell Saphira and I."

"Why?" she asked, pursing her lips.

"Because ... I ..." Eragon scowled, and ran his hand through his hair. "Because then we will have to decide if you are ready leave Du Weldenvarden, if you are ready to go into battle together."

Arya opened her mouth to give Eragon an angry answer, but Eridor was quicker. _Of course we are, of course will be able to! What do you _talk_ of?!_

Saphira lifted the sides of her mouth, growling low in her throat;her teeth flashed ivory. Eragon lifted his head and held Eridor's gaze steadily.

_Such things are for Saphira and I to consider. No one else will, _Eragon said seriously, and his voice held steel._ You shall not be sent to battle and your deaths if I can help it. _He looked at Arya, and she did not look away.

"You need not consider it," she said clearly. "We will be fit."

_We would not let you stop us, in any case, _Eridor said, and Arya agreed wholeheartedly. Saphira gave a quiet snort, but Eragon laughed, although carefully; it seemed his head was still as delicate as hers.

"It would be very hard, I am sure." He grinned at her. "I have never dissuaded you from anything before." Arya eyed him cautiously, just in case he bore some grudge. But his face was open.

"You have never tried, Eragon," she said dryly. He raised his eyebrows.

"I hope I never have to," he said, the laughter evident in his voice, and finally she smiled as well, and the tension between them eased. But Arya saw that still Saphira and Eridor did not speak, nor look at each other. And she looked away from Eragon, and all four fell silent.

The hot stickiness in the air had gone, and the thunder that had been on the horizon before was rolling closer and closer on black-tipped clouds. The vast expanses of Du Weldenvarden that could normally be seen so clearly from the Stone were obscured by misty walls of rain. Arya could not summon the energy to move, and Eridor did not even seem to notice; nor did Eragon.

But eventually Saphira pulled herself to her feet, stretching her wings, wings that were so much like the Saphira in the vision.

_The storm is very strong. We should go indoors. It will not be safe here soon. _

Eragon nodded and stood up slowly. He started to wearily check Saphira's saddle with practised movements, checking the girth and undoing the leather thongs. Arya followed him, getting up before Eridor. She would have to go with Eragon on Saphira, as she had done on the way there.

The rain was starting to drop, large, heavy drops that splashed nosily on the stone floor, and ran down the dragons' sides before Arya had even climbed onto Saphira's back. Arya pulled down the sleeves of her tunic, and clenched her teeth against the cold even as a peal of thunder rumbled deafeningly overhead.

But to was not so loud as to deafen the sharp ears of an elf. As Eragon jumped onto Saphira's leg and prepared to pull himself into her saddle, Arya froze, not believing the sound that that she had heard.

"Stop!" she hissed to Eragon. He stared at her, eyes wide. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

Arya stared away at the trees hidden by the thick curtains of rain, and her lips parted in shock. "The horns," she whispered.

The water ran down Eragon's face, and he pulled himself up next to her. "Whose are they?"

"Tialdari Hall," she whispered, then turned quickly back to Eragon, fright in every part of her body. "The horns of Tialdari Hall, winded only when our race is in gravest danger, sounded only in the greatest of emergencies! We have to go!"

Eragon gave her one quick, piercing glance, but her fright had begun to seep into him. He pulled himself into the sadden, and without a word the two dragons launched themselves from the Stone, and down into the hidden trees below.

--

The rain poured, and darkness fell, but neither stars nor moon rose in the sky. The thunder crashed and rumbled above, and lightning flashed at frequent intervals. Eragon and Arya ran, eyes wide with fright and panic blooming in their breasts, through puddles and mud and the fallen leaves that had turned to mulch.

The trees that stood before the doors of Tialdari Hall waved in the gale, and Arya shouted in a flurry the words that would grant them access. And then they sped on their way again, while the dragons followed in their wake.

And they reached the doors of the Throne Room, where the guards let them through immediately. It was full of elves, the elf Lords and Ladies, councillors to the Queen, and they sat in a row on each side of the room and they were pale.

Eragon and Arya stopped short, the abrupt end to their headlong dash and into the Throne Room taking them by surprise. They looked around, and saw Niduen, surrounded by parchment and a caged dove on a lower root of the Throne. Her hair was disarranged, and she was as pale as the others.

"Thank goodness you are here," she said, moving aside the parchment and coming over to them. "I did not think you would hear the horns."

"I could never forget them," Arya said, and Niduen nodded in fervent agreement.

"Perhaps you will think it is not worth commanding the horns to be sounded," Niduen said, glancing around at the other elves, and Eragon wondered if she had been criticised by them; she was, after all, not even Princess Regent. "But I needed you to give the order. I have not the power."

"Order for what?" said Eragon, and Niduen gave him a sharp look.

"For a band of troops to be sent out to Ceunon."

Arya stared at Niduen in amazement. "Why? What has happened?"

"The colony in Ceunon has fallen under attack," Niduen said, and for the first time her cool façade slipped. She looked as scared as Arya had done. "They have retreated to the fort in the centre of the township, but they cannot stay in that position for long. They need reinforcements, and they have to come from Du Weldenvarden."

"We have no extra forces here," Arya said, and also looked at the other elves. "The queen took all that could be spared to war with her. She trusted to the wards to keep the city safe."

"Ceunon is vital in the invasion of the Empire," a male from the line of chairs on the right said. He stood up, his face carefully emotionless. "It must not be allowed to be taken by the Empire."

"Who is attacking them?" asked Eragon suddenly. Niduen gave him an odd look.

"Who else would it be? The Empire –"

"No," said Eragon impatiently. "Are they human?"

"I do not think so," Niduen replied, and turned to a scribe that held the dove cage. "What did the message say, Bruin?"

"Urgals, my Lady," the scribe replied. Eragon frowned.

"But his allegiance with the Urgals broke after we killed Durza. Doubt that they would ally themselves with him again, not after he hoodwinked them so spectacularly."

"I am not familiar with Urgals and their ways, Eragon," Niduen said coolly, and she turned to look back at Arya. "What say you, cousin?"

"I will not risk a battalion," said Arya firmly, looking steadily at Niduen and the other Lords and Ladies. "It may be a trap. If even one soldier is captured and tortured to give away our whereabouts than all is over. We cannot risk it."

"But, your Highness," said the Lord that had spoken before; "We cannot loose Ceunon."

And Arya said nothing, though for a fleeting second she glanced at Eragon: last time in Tialdari Hall he had had an answer. Would he not do the same today? And then she curbed that thought, for why should she so heavily need him to help her, she, Arya, in her own court?

But then Eragon spoke, and Arya wished she had not looked at him for that brief second. "Saphira and I can go to Ceunon. We will be more than match for a rabble of Urgals. If we can we will offer them peace."

There was about of whispering and the fair faces around the Room blinked in surprise. But Arya looked only at Eragon, who stared back.

"It is too dangerous."

"Only if Murtagh or Galbatorix is there: as neither of them are, then we are safe."

"You must stay here until you are truly needed in battle."

"You said yourself that you would not send a battalion, yet as the Lord so shrewdly said, we cannot loose Ceunon either. You have few options, Princess."

Arya recoiled, though it was almost unnoticeable: Eragon had not called her by her title for many months, and even then only in jest. "I am holding court here, and I know my own mind," she hissed.

"I think it is the wise course, Arya," Niduen said, but Arya gave no sign that she had heard.

"Eragon, it would be irresponsible to go. You cannot."

"I am sorry," he said, and he sounded it, "but Saphira and I are not under oath of fealty to you, nor are we your liege-men. We do not truly need your permission to go."

_But we would, of course, rather go with your blessing than without it, _Saphira added. Arya stared at the both of them, incensed.

"Many lives could be saved, Highness," said another Lord.

"And Eragon's could be lost!" spat back Arya without even looking at the unfortunate elf. "Can you justify that?"

"You can't known that, Arya!" Niduen told her in low tones. "If all those battles he was in before did not –" she stopped, because she had forgotten that Eragon could hear just as sharply as

she and Arya could, and that he was not too far away. In fact he looked almost amused.

"Urgals," he said to the room at large, "have not the honour and hierarchy of Kull, but they also have far less intelligence. I will find their leader, and give him and his men an ultimatum, for once I arrive the elven force will be in advantage. If they choose peace, I will send to the Kull dwellings in the Beor Mountains, where they will be able to help the women and children remaining. If not, we will kill or scatter them. It will not be hard."

At his words it seemed to Arya that the elves around them quieted, and their bodies relaxed. She glanced at Eridor, who immediately told her to listen to him. Feeling very much outnumbered, she moved over to the Throne and took from the scribe the tiny message that had come by dove. She saw the hastily scribbled words and barely acknowledged formalities.

"How many men does Captain Tabitha have in Silthrim?" she asked the scribe abruptly.

"Twenty at ready, your Highness. She has informed us via the mirrors that she can if necessary pull back her troops from Ceris."

"I see." Arya herself had wanted at one point to go to Ceunon and wait for a chance to go to Gil'ead, before Eridor had hatched. "Eragon and Saphira can go first and perform their ... negotiations. If we receive no notice from any one in Ceunon after the sun has risen three times from today, then I want Captain Tabitha to be ready to march. Go and tell her such, please," she told the scribe, who dropped the birdcage, whereupon the poor dove make a loud racket, and the unfortunate elf tried to quiet it. Under cover of this noise, Arya stood closer to Eragon.

"Do you understand?" she said in low voice, so that the others would not hear. Eragon looked down at her from his slightly taller height with a strangely intense stare.

"I understand your orders," he said, and brows contracted. "But I do not understand _you._"

Arya blinked, and Eragon stepped back, looking rather embarrassed. "What about me?"

"Ah ..." he shifted from one foot to another, and ran a hand through his still-damp hair. "I ... you ..."

But he was spared the apparent difficulty of answering her for Arya suddenly realised that the scribe had run away to give the message to Tabitha, and that the Room had once more fallen silent. She and Eragon were the only things audible in the stillness.

She wished she could curse aloud, for how did it happen that every time Eragon was in court, she had some sort of discomfit or embarrassment? But as the two of them realised the sudden quiet, another door banged and Niduen and Arya spun to face the door that had burst open.

"Highness! Silver Hand, Lady Niduen!" the scribe panted in a rush, trying to get all their titles in on one breath. "Another dove! From a man in the Varden!"

Arya stiffened. "His seal? What is his seal?!"

"And oak tree, Highness. There is a small rose above it."

Arya shared a confused look with Eragon: he did not know all the symbols and signs of the many noblemen, but she did; but this one was unknown to her.

"What does it say, Naian?" Niduen asked, and Arya marvelled only for a second at how Niduen knew the names of each and every person at court.

"A force of two battalions has been sent to the city of Teirm to try and take. The writer says that they cannot hope to keep their current place at Dras Leona without taking Teirm."

Arya tilted her chin. "Nasuada – I suppose that is the writer? – is right. They need that city, the seaport with be a good ally."

"Such a small force will never take Teirm," Eragon said flatly. "It is the most well-planned and defended cities in Alagaesia. It is the greatest jewel in Galbatorix's ill-gotten crown."

Niduen had stayed quite for this war-talk. She was no part in it. But now she wanted to know something. She had seen the signature at the bottom, and it was not that of a woman.

"Who sent and signed it, Naian?"

The young boy checked it again. "It is hard to read. There is a rune "R" and then along name. I do not understand it."

"Let me see, Naian," she said gently, and took it from him with a glance at Arya. "I see what you mean. Odd writing."

"Well, Niduen?" Arya said impatiently, as Niduen only stared at the words. "Who is it from?"

"Naian is right – an unusual name. It reads, ''Stronghammer, House of Palancar''."

"What!" cried Eragon, and bounded forward to see it for himself, and Arya followed him closely. Niduen held the letter out to him with a slightly alarmed look at his expression, and he grabbed it from her.

Arya watched his eyes skim the parchment, then he turned it over, a rather wild look in his eyes, and felt the green wax seal, on which an intricate and fair banner was stamped, a spreading oak adorned with a single rose. The he looked up, first to Saphira, and then to Arya.

"House of Palancar! They are all dead – thousands of years ago. What is Roran playing at?!"

Arya went over to him, and looked at from his side, and saw for herself the words and seal. Something stirred in her mind. "King Palancar ruled from the valley your village is located in," she said in a low voice.

"Used to be there," he corrected quietly. "What do you mean?"

"The quietest places are often the ones that change the least," she said hesitantly: she hardly believed her own words. "Who is to say Palancar's descendants did not just ... live on in quiet anonymity after his death?"

Eragon's breath caught in his throat. "They did," he said, blinking as he remembered. "Brom always told us so, in his tales. And even in the Domia abr Wyrda ..."

Arya found herself watching him again as a wondering expression came over him. "Do you think so? Do you think he is – ?"

She shook her head, his excitement contagious. "I think it may well be."

And Eragon laughed suddenly, much to the bewilderment of Niduen, who had politely closed her ears to the conversation. "Roran is royalty! What a thing!"

Arya smiled as well; she was very close to him, so close that she could feel his chest vibrating with his chuckles, and it was impossible to not enjoy his humour. She had found this out a while, and found it at different times equally annoying and joyful. But also she had her own reasons to be glad: if Roran was indeed a descendant of a King, the last King of Men before the Riders allowed humans, then the Varden had a true line of royalty in their ranks. Nasuada, clever as she was, would be using this to her advantage. People would feel better and have more pride serving a man with royal blood, rather than merely successful rebels. No wonder he had his own seal and title.

She grinned at Eragon, and caught his upper arm gleefully. "This is excellent! Now we have a true, legal claim to the throne, to try and overthrow the Usurper! Men will flock to his banner, Eragon!" Her eyes sparkled, and she did not care that the Lords and Ladies were watching: they did not yet understand. This was a triumph for the Varden – for Roran.

There was a sense of heady delight about them, and Saphira too forgot her quarrel with Eridor for the moment. _Oh, excellent,_ she said drily, but by now Arya could tell when she was truly pleased about something. _More titles in your family, Eragon._

"He is married – Katrina is with him," he cried exultantly, and Arya remembered the pretty, brave but quite subtle Katrina that she had met on occasion in the Varden march. "Fortune is with the Varden for now."

"It seems so," she agreed, and smiled at him. But with a jerk Arya remembered the peril that her own kingdom was in, and sobered. "But now we must deal with Ceunon. The message has been sent to Captain Tabitha. Eragon, Saphira ... you should sleep as well as now can before tomorrow. At first dawn, the court will be here to see you both off."

"Tomorrow?" Eragon repeated. "No, we are leaving tonight."

"You are not! It is dark, there is a storm – and if it is an ambush? What will you do in the dark?"

"Fight, Princess," Eragon said, with a puzzled look. "We are quite capable of it. In any case we might not reach Ceunon even until tomorrow morning."

Arya glared back at him, annoyed. She could not, however, stand another hissed argument with Niduen, and then Eragon; nor did there seem any point. Time was of the essence.

"Very well. I think you are foolhardy to do so. But as you said, I am have direct order over you. Go well and with my blessings, if you must."

"Thank-you, your Highness," he said with a bow, and Arya almost winced: he had certainly never called her by that title. She suspected that he did not take it quite seriously, this formality with her, whom he considered friend enough to not need to. "Then we will go to prepare my armour and our wards."

"Good," she said, and waved him away, but was devastated to find that once more his mood had caught her; her lips twitched as she made the imperious movement. And to her chagrin, she knew that Eragon had seen it. He grinned in an inappropriate way for the situation. As he left with Saphira, Niduen let out a strangled breath of what might have been disapproval or mirth. The Lords and Ladies, Arya perceived, were certainly leaning more to the former.

She could not find it in herself to care.

--

Eragon had been very quick, and all Arya's entourage, including the young scribes and Niduen had braved the weather to say their farewells and give Saphira and him their blessings. Arya wished they would go away, even though she knew she shouldn't. If only she and Eridor could say farewell without them.

But Eragon had donned his armour; she could till that Saphira especially, as she did not have her armour with her, was layered with wards, and for the first time she noticed how much more power he had. Even in the pitch blackness Daiithil glowed slightly, and his dwarven made armour and helm of his Clan glinted, showing the meticulous way in which he cared for them.

Arya pulled a woollen cloak that Niduen, with her usual efficiency, had produced from somewhere tighter about her. The mud had become deeper, and she saw the feathers and bright colours of her companions' clothes becoming more and more wilted. The rain streamed down Saphira's sides and ran in rives down Eragon's armour. She wished he would have waited for sunrise, at least.

Another wave of freezing water blew down from the trees above, and Arya clenched her teeth and closed her eyes. When she opened them Eragon stood before her, so different in all his finery, battered as it was.

"Goodbye, Arya. Will you be well?" he asked seriously.

Arya smiled against the cold. He was the one going into danger! "Of course we will. We will continue the training."

He smiled as well. "I know. Be well."

"You must be careful," she frowned, "not me."

"Yes ... but I will try to find some leather there, large sheets of it, so that when we return, a saddle for Eridor can be made. Saphira's is not quite fit for it."

Arya eyes sparkled, and Eridor grunted with happiness. "Good! We have been waiting for that time to come for a long while."

Eragon nodded and she knew he understood very well. But as another sheet of water fell right onto the shivering party, Eragon stood back. "You will catch cold staying out here," he said, and Arya did not bother to correct him, because he knew perfectly well that elves could not get colds. It had become a sort of habitual thing for him to say.

And so he walked away with an odd abruptness, and climbed Saphira's massive sides, where he spent only as half-minute tying the leather thongs. Saphira leant back, opened her wings, and with great grace leapt up into the stormy sky. It was such foul weather that Arya only saw her bright colour for a second in the darkness before it swallowed them up; and then they were gone.

She stared for a moment at the place where Saphira had gone; but before all the others, she turned on her heel and splashed her way back towards her house, jaw set against the cold and her whole body soaked.

She had not even said goodbye, in the end.

--

Lol, I said it would get going, didn't I? It was very fun, but it took forever. Sorry. Had to share with my sisters. And it's eleven at night, I'm not capable of much more! Please excuse any typo's. I'm not at all surer about the apostrophe's. I _think_ they're called apostrophe's.

Lol.

Happy Saint David's day I advance! I think the daffs will out for it!


	45. Fire and Water

Urgh, I know, it's been longer than month! We are without Internet in the house, the modem broke, I'm doing this on mum's best work computer! She's doing 30 minutes on the exercise bike at the moment, so she won't notice for a while, I hope.

I'm so sorry. Haven't been able to reply to reviews, either ... apologies in particular to the Tealeaf Master, the day your PM came through, the modem broke. I HATE computers.

I'm afraid that I may not be able to reply any reviews for this one either, unless I can sneak over the office and do it. But you all know I appreciate more than I can write? Thank-you!

I hope you enjoy this! I did work hard and next chapter is on its way! (I know Arya may seem OOC, but I'm sure she's far different with Eridor. Bear with me!)

Chapter Forty-Five.

Fire and Water.

Arya unbuckled her sword and leaned against a birch that was just starting to bud, then sat down, crossing her legs neatly beneath her. Eridor had gone to hunt early that morning before she had woken, and Arya had walked all the way to borders of the city, close to where he was hunting. She did not like to be in Tialdari Hall, for everyone she saw there was tense and worried.

But Eridor was still finishing off a pheasant or two, and had expressed a desire to catch a rabbit for dessert, so Arya would meditate in the little copse she had found for until had had finished, just as she and Eragon had done.

The little cluster of trees was higher than the forest floor, and the trees grew on a bit of scree on the rock, therefore it was less damp than elsewhere in Du Weldenvarden. The storm of the previous night had wreaked havoc in the further reaches of the forest, and many trees had fallen in the high winds, though Ellesmera had escaped generally unscathed: the trees of the capital city were ancient, and their roots extended deep into the soil.

Arya closed her eyes and placed her hand on her knees, as her teacher had taught her long ago. But she could not concentrate on the peace of the forest, and when she extended her mind to her surroundings, she did not heed them. But with a barely audible sigh of frustration, she opened her eyes again. It was easier to concentrate on the current happenings in Alagaesia, for that was all she was interested.

There had been no news from Ceunon, though it did not surprise her: it was to be expected. Nothing, either, had arrived from the Varden sine the dove that had been so astonishing. Roran Stronghammer was royalty! Eragon's cousin, no less, and he was already so highly valued: Nasuada must be very pleased.

An oak and a rose. Arya had pondered over this on the way to her little copse, and she still did. Nasuada must have ordered for Roran's own seal and banner to be made as a way of using the information to the Varden's sudden advantage; but who had designed it? It was rare, so detailed a mark, yet also so very symbolic.

Perhaps she was not giving Roran himself enough credit? He was a silent man, more so than Eragon, and she had never truly been able, on the rare occasions she had tried, to tell what was in his thoughts. Such a man would easily have compiled a banner that spoke the right ideals, both to him and those that followed him.

So, what was its significance? Oak trees symbolised longevity, constancy, and most importantly strength: many characteristics a person would wish in a king, especially in such turbulent times.

Well, and the rose was understandable: the Varden's peace banner was a dragon in flight, holding a rose. It had been laid over Ajihad on his black tomb. Roran and Nasuada had indeed played their game game well, and with a subtlety and skill that Arya appreciated greatly. She now felt, more than she had since Eridor had hatched, a desire to go back to the Varden. Much as she loved Ellesmera, her home, it was with the Varden that she should be – with Eridor – for there they could do most use. Now the last battle was coming, all the forces of the Varden, the dwarves and the elves had come out of retirement; and soon they would fight, once and for all, Galbatorix's ill-gotten kingdom. The Varden was where all this was happening.

But it was frightening. Galbatorix would be nearer than he had ever been, more dangerous than ever before. And she was personally threatened, she and Eridor, and Eragon and Saphira. All his hatred, his anger, his malicious intentions bent towards those four, more than anyone else in the Varden, bar Nasuada.

Eridor understood this; he knew it, and he bore it well. But Arya, though she had fought against Galbatorix all her life, been tortured by his favourite slave, found it truly frightening, though she would never let anyone see this, and only Eridor shared her thoughts.

Yet Saphira and Eragon had borne this weight for almost two years; and Eragon had been so young when Saphira had hatched for him. They had had Brom, which had helped, doubtless. But Arya suspected that Eragon had a clear idea of just how dangerous his and Saphira's positions had been. They seemed to be able to hold everything at bay: fear, anger, loss, even those malignant Souls that invaded his mind.

Arya did not do that. She ignored those feelings. She did not acknowledge them, so they did not exist. Far better; it was the way she had been raised. It was the way her mother had been raised, and also the way her mother had lived all her long life.

But then a very ominous thought occurred to her: Islanzadi, her own mother, had disowned and ignored her existence for seventy years. That was a not a good example of her upbringing, of her rigid, cool manners. Would she, Arya, be that cold, that cruel to her daughter?

Pah. She would never have a child, for it was rare, and precious, and indicative only of real, true love. Besides, here was a time to adopt one of Eragon's own policies: she had as short a life expectancy as any human – less, even, now that she was Shurtugal with Eridor. Galbatorix would kill them both if he remained undefeated. No need to worry about the future, if there was none.

And her mind quickly trailed away from those thoughts, thoughts she did not want to think, and landed on the thing she and Eridor had at the forefronts of their minds, being Eragon and Saphira. She knew she should not be overly concerned for Eragon's safety – as well as Saphira's – but she was. It annoyed her no end, for it was utterly pointless.

She had checked their wards as they went, and found them thick with every type of ward, leaving no gaps or chinks in the spells to let one stray arrow in, or the backstroke of a filthy Urgals' pike.

Arya let out a long breath; it hissed through her pursed lips. The weight in her stomach lessened a little. She had indulged in those fluttery doubts for too long already that morning, and the stern thinking calmed her. So she closed her eyes again and placed her hands back on her knees, feeling, this time, ready to concentrate properly on her surroundings.

But even as she stretched out her mind, she felt Eridor coming back from hunting, well fed, but, she sensed, ill at ease.

_Hello,_ he said, dropping neatly down between to slender aspen trees. _Are you all right?_

_Yes, _Arya replied, eyeing him shrewdly. _Are you?_

_Oh, _he said, sounding profoundly unhappy. _Never mind me; do you think Saphira is all right?_

_I think so, _Arya replied sombrely. _Of course they are. Why should they not be?_

_Accidents can happen to everyone, _Eridor said plainly. Arya frowned at him.

_Why so gloomy? You felt their wards last night, and you know that only another Rider could defeat them. Do not worry over-much._

_It is easier for you to have such peace of mind, _he said; Arya could not quite determine the tone of voice in which he said it. _But you and Eragon departed in friendship. _

Arya uncrossed her legs in order to stand up and go over to him. _What do you mean?_

Eridor snorted in undisguised disgust. _My stupid, foolish words that I spoke on the Stone of Broken Eggs. I did not apologise for them when I should have done, and they stood between us as she left last night. What have I to do but worry?_

Arya paused as she started to climb Eridor's side in order to sit in the hollow she normally did. _Barzul, Eridor. I forgot. I'm sorry._

_Aye, _Eridor agreed gloomily. _As am I. _

Arya twisted nimbly in her seat so she sat side-saddle and crossed her ankles so that they wouldn't bash against his side. _They will be well, _she said quietly, _and we both know that, no matter how these foolish doubts creep in. When Saphira comes back __as of course she will __you can say what you wish to her. _

_I hope so, _Eridor said, more to himself than to Arya. _I said many foolish things, that she did not deserve. _

Arya leant forward slightly to see his face. The later events of of the previous evening had somewhat eclipsed the argument he and Saphira had had. But it had been unpleasant, for it seemed unthinkable that strong, irascible Saphira and quick, thoughtful Eridor could quarrel; neither she nor Eragon had dared to intervene.

_What did you disagree on, Eridor? I dared not ask before, and have had no chance until now._

Eridor growled in his throat, not angrily, but in a way Arya knew meant he was upset about something. _All in one day we found that dead men's minds were invading our own,and that they gave us great power. But that vision, it was cruel, though I know it could not have been controlled. I never really thought about my parents, because they had no bearing on our lives. Dead and gone, unimportant. I would never know them, and so they did not matter so much. But Saphira ... _Eridor hesitated. _For Saphira it should be the same, surely, yet she became so angry! _

_Oh. _Arya sighed, and so did Eridor, his huge sides expanding and deflating ponderously. _But it was not supposed to be offensive, was it? _

_Perhaps not, _he said somewhat curtly. _But it intend to apologise for it anyway._

_Very well, _Arya said, a bit of pride stirring in her. _I am glad. _

Eridor did not reply. Arya could tell he was thinking on something in his careful, meandering way. _I did not mean to upset her, _he said slowly._ But why did she become so angry? _

_I cannot fathom all of Saphira's thoughts, _Arya said with a small smile. _Perhaps it is better not to try, hm?_

_But, _Eridor said in a deliberate way. _I need to know. _

_Why? _Arya asked, puzzled.But Eridor seemed stricken dumb. Arya could feel a block of choking emotions rising in him, apparently restricting his speech. Arya stared at him from his shoulders, her own curiosity rising. _Why?_

Still Eridor did not speak; and remembering how careful and respectful he had been of her feelings over Durza, Arya decided to ask him no more, only to wait. But even as she though that, he stirred.

_I cannot ... understand, _he said with a little difficulty._ And I want _have_ to know. _

Arya wanted to ask; she almost did. But she felt in his voice a true urgency. _Perhaps ... well,_she said hesitantly, glad that no one else had asked her such advice, for only to Eridor would she dream of giving it. _I loved my father, _she said, keeping her voice steady with a little effort; _and if someone were to insult him or defile his memory, I would be furious; I would hate that person. I would duel him if I could, I would not be gentle. Do you understand? _

_Of course, _Eridor said with feeling. _Every one deserves their honour .. dead or alive. _

_Not just honour, _Arya told him with a sense of irony that she, so proficient at hiding her feelings, was giving Eridor advice. _Love as well. Love is more important. It is my love for my father that would make me duel someone for his honour. And so it is for Saphira, I think. _

_How so? _Eridor asked softly. Arya gripped one his ivory spikes tight in one hand.

_Saphira spent her whole life thinking she was the only sane dragon in existence,_Arya said slowly and carefully, thinking as she spoke. She did not want to say wild, far-out rumours, and she did not want, in that way, to inadvertently disrespect Saphira so. She wished she could stop. _So surely she would have spent much time thinking about the parents __maybe siblings as well __that she would never know. _

Eridor grunted. Despite his words that previous night, he also had sometimes thought of the days before the Fall, and all of their lives would have been so very different if Galbatorix had not risen to power.

_And, _Arya continued, resolved to finish seeing as she had started; _and you, without meaning to, insulted her parents by saying they were unimportant. To Saphira, who has been the last of her race for her whole life, it was wrong, and also for her upsetting, though you should not take my word for truth. Her parents have become, I suppose, their own characters to her, very private people of her own._

_You do not give yourself enough credit, _Eridor said, sounding not too pleased about it anyway. _You make perfect sense. Better than than I could have explained anything to myself, for sure, though it gives me no pleasure. _

_You asked, _Arya said sadly, and Eridor agreed.

_Thank-you, _he said with another great sigh. _I wish she was back; I would apologise, I would explain. I did not mean to hurt her. _

_I know, _Arya said, letting go of the spike and running her fingers absent-mindedly up and down the smooth scales. _Be patient. Two days past this evening, and we will know what had happened in Ceunon._

_Aye, _Eridor agreed with a puff of smoke from his nostrils._I will think on it, Arya. Thank you. _

_That's all right,_Arya said with a far away voice. _Do you feel better, now, then?_

_I will not be, _he said, _until they return, safe._Arya smiled sadly, and sent a vague agreement to him through their link. _But these ... Urgals ... _he said after a pause. _What are they like?_

_Filthy monsters, all of them, _Arya said at once. _Yet I think Eragon has a soft spot for the Kull; and they are more fearsome than Urgals. I do not understand him or his Kull. _

_I have seen them in your memories ... though I expect they are different in reality?_

_My memories _are _real, _Arya said without much snap. _Although I agree that they are probably even fouler when face to face. But I expect you will meet them sooner than you'd like. _

_Ah well, _said Eridor philosophically, _there comes a time for everything. But the Kull are allied with the Varden, I thought?_

_Yes. _Arya's lips thinned. _Two or three tribes, I believe. The Bolvek tribe fought with us at the Battle of the Burning Plains, and then after that another two asked for our friendship and offered forward their warriors. They live in makeshift villages in the Beors with their women and children. But if you want to know more in detail, you can ask Eragon when he comes back._

_Oh, _Eridor said cheekily. _Is that because of his soft spot for monsters?_

Arya's eyes opened wide. _Now don't you dare repeat that! _She said severely, but Eridor just sniggered.

_Really, Arya! I think he would find it as amusing as I do._

_Perhaps, but__** I**__ do not._

Eridor surveyed her over his shoulder with eyes that were beginning to look quite bright and cheerful again. _I know you have a sense if humour, Arya; I am sure. It is only well-buried. _

_Oh, be quiet. You are supposed to be sensible, Eragon is not even as bad as you!_

_If he was not so careful of your feelings, I am sure he would to be able to tease you as I do._

_In that case, thank goodness he does not, I could not stand two of you._But in her mind had already leaped ahead to scenes that quickly flashed past, where Eragon was as free with her as he was with Roran and his wife. And no matter how Arya tried, she could not dispel the images from her mind.

Eridor laughed again. _It will come, _he said in a voice that told her he knew perfectly well what scenes had been conjured in her mind's eye. _Do not worry._

_I, _said Arya sharply, _am not worrying._

_Fine, fine, _Eridor said in a tone Arya had heard Eragon used when backing away from a good-natured argument with Saphira.

_Are you ready to go back, then? Before search-parties are sent out, I mean. _

_Yes, if we must. _Arya slid down his back landing on her feet with a slight thud. _Are you going to walk with me, or will I be on my own again?_

_I've told you, _he said, albeit a rather glumly. _Didn't I say you would never be on your own again? That promise includes walks through Du Weldenvarden. _

_Good, _Arya said, moving out of the way as he stood up, wings flaring.

_I wish we could fly back, instead of this tiresome walking. The trees are so in the way of my tail, and they catch my wings._

_Soon we will fly, _Arya said, prodding his mind to make him at least a little cheerier as he had been just a few minutes before. _Eragon said, remember? He is bringing back some cured leather for a saddle like Saphira's. _

_I had forgotten that! _Eridor replied brightly. _Saphira told me that her leather one made for her by Eragon and Brom is starting to fall apart, she said we would have to have another one made. _

_Oh, I see, _Arya replied, belting her sword back on. _It will be good, won't it? _

_Oh, yes, _Eridor said, and now he smiled. _Then I will be able to show you those manoeuvres that Saphira has been teaching me for so long._

_Yes, I know you want to show off._

_Ha! _Eridor exclaimed. _You must not say such things, for when you fall off me in mid-air, I will be the one to catch you._

Arya grinned, jumping down from the raised bit of ground, and moving out of the way before Eridor himself jumped down and squashed her. _You are very full of yourself. Besides, what would Saphira and Eragon say if you dropped me?_

_Do you want my company going home or not? I won't stay where I am insulted, _he told her teasingly.

_Go and find some people in the city with some spare time, and you will not be short of complimentary company. How many names have you now?_asked Arya, teasing in her turn. _Swiftwing, Longclaw ... Bright-eyes, _Arya said, counting on her fingers. _Long_ _fang, Jewel skin, Red Herring ..._

_Be quiet! _Eridor said, deeply embarrassed. _Don't be daft._

Arya bit her lips together to stop from laughing out loud. The elves of Ellesmera did indeed sing his praises, making up the most extravagant and spectacular names; but Eridor was very modest, and brushed them off as quickly as he could. It humiliated him terribly, and Arya rarely teased him on it. But this was an exception, because he had been so miserable. _Don't you like those names, then?_

_I am not doubting the goodwill of the people who live here, _Eridor said, because even in his embarrassment he was polite; _but you know I do not like the attention! Don't go on about it!_

_Meet fire with fire, _Arya said complacently, referring to his own teasing a few minutes ago. She started to walk on ahead, turning to look back at him. _Don't you think Jewel skin suits you? _Eridor growled. _Or Longclaw, perhaps? _she offered solemnly. Eridor blew a puff of hot smoke into her back.

_This is becoming boring. Are you finished?_

_I am now, _she replied, somewhat surprised to find herself quite easily abandoning herself to such silliness as she had not done before, not even in her short childhood. What would Eragon – and Saphira, of course – think if they could hear her and Eridor? This made her grin, though it was accompanied by a strange, almost wistful twinge in her breast.

Eridor did not experience this. _Good, _he said. Arya raised her eyebrows at him and hurried ahead before he could envelope her in that smoke again.

_And by the way! _he called after her; _no one _**ever**_ called me __**Red Herring!**_

**OoOoO**

Arya stared sadly at the sagging remains of her house, suspended between the two trees that it had been built between long ago.

Pulpy, ruined scrolls, their ink run, were lying everywhere about the lawn upon which the debris had fallen, and many items of clothing were wet and muddy, while the long, fine curtains that had once hung were ragged and also wet. The struts holding up the floor were sagging alarmingly and sunk far down in the middle. It was as if one half had been pulled off to be an open exhibition.

Among the scattered letters of great importance, her clothes – and perhaps underclothes! – were lying on the ground for all to see. She would collect the things she needed, then find a gardener to clear it up. Preferably someone with discretion: Niduen would know. Niduen knew all the gardeners, as well as the pages, scribes, and librarians in Ellesmera, though the had only been in court six months or so. Niduen was far better at that sort of thing than her cousin, Princess though Arya was.

She was just turning to go, when something on the floor, a shiny grey caught her eye. With a quick swoop, she picked it up, turning it to face her, and held it at arms length.

It was her father's fairth, his gaze as stern as it was in life, and his long silver hair that looked soft and real exactly as she remembered it. Arya stared at it, her joy at finding it clouded by a fierce choking emotion at seeing his face so near, so suddenly, so lifelike after the many times she had thought of him last night.

A sharp crack echoed through the silence; Arya jumped guiltily, and hid the fairth against her chest, for no reason she could determine. But it was only a rabbit, sniffling at a few choice blades of grass. It was unafraid of her, but Arya scowled at the tiny creature, feeling foolish.

_I'm going to get my bow, _she said quickly to Eridor, who sent back a sympathetic feeling: she could hide nothing from him. _Then we can go to the training fields. _She turned for Niduen's house, and walked quickly there, hoping to meet no one who would see her.

But once there, she strode straight to her bedroom, going to her bed; and with hardly a glance at the likeness of her father, put it face-down under her pillow.

**OoOoO**

Second night since Eragon and Saphira had left, and Arya could not sleep.

The darkness was smothering, thick as a blanket. There were no stars again, and the clouds were thick. Arya could feel the cold slate of her father's fairth under her pillow. It did not give her the comfort it once had, not after what she and Eridor knew about the Vault of Souls, for it had changed her perspectives about death. Now Evandar's image seemed cold, empty, and it filled her with a foreboding that she could never live up to the expectations of her country and parents.

It was stifling, like a dwarven tomb. Arya could not stand it, and with a quick roll was standing up by her bed. Quickly she gathered a few blankets in her arms, and then donned the tunic nearest at hand. She would go to Eridor.

The light in Niduen's bedroom was out, and all was still. Arya crept down on soft feet to the floor of Tialdari Hall where she broke into a lithe run, the night air blowing her hair. She knew the way in night or day.

Eridor's huge bulk filled the copse, and Arya picked her way through the brambles, uncaring as they ripped her clothes.

_Arya! _exclaimed Eridor, lifting his head sleepily. _What is wrong? _

_Nothing, _she replied hurriedly. _I ... could not sleep._

_Oh, poor little thing, _Eridor said, nudging her head and billowing her softly. _Come here. _

Arya came, walking underneath his wing without questioning. Eridor rearranged himself, shuffling sideways so she could come closer. _Now. Put the blankets down there, and I will keep you warm._

Arya obediently dropped the blankets onto the floor, and slowly sat down; whereupon Eridor lowered his wing, curling around her, his head by hers under the thin membrane. His hot breath steamed in the cold air.

_Now will you sleep well, my small one? _he asked tenderly. Arya smiled and pressed her face to his.

_I love you, Eridor. So much. _

The now-familiar thrumming started deep in his chest, and vibrated throughout his body. His long red tongue flicked out, and he licked her forehead, the first time he had done so since a tiny hatchling, and Arya was overcome by the feelings it brought, the love and the memory of his hatching not so long ago, but which she valued higher than any others.

_Words cannot express_, Eridor said, ever so softly. _Now, sleep. _

And she did. It was safe and warm, curled up with Eridor; and also the love, pure and tender that drifted through their link was utterly blissful. All the while Eridor's thrumming continued, and Arya fell asleep to it, the slow, gentle rhythm.

**OoOoO**

Arya trailed her fingers in the water of a fast little brook and leant back against the trunk of a mossy willow. Second day since Eragon had left, and she felt as if she was balancing on a knife edge. Tomorrow there would be news at last; tomorrow they would know what was happening in Ceunon.

Tomorrow Captain Tabitha might have to send her reinforcements.

Arya scowled, and brushed that thought away. How stupid she was to keep running over those thoughts in her head; it would do no use at all. That morning she had made Eridor stay still, and meditated with him; she had gone to the deserted training fields and practised her archery until her bow sang, and the string wore the skin on her fingers red-raw.

Now she had taken from the library of Tialdari Hall a long, ancient script written in the Common Tongue about the colonisation of the Palancar Valley, and also about the last King's family and history. There were many odd words that Arya presumed were not used any more by the humans.

Nonetheless, it was clear to Arya that the Royal Family had been quite cunning, adept at getting what they wanted, and also at negotiating with other settlers, when they wanted. Yet they seemed to be even stronger of will, and the writer of the long chronicle – a monk, Arya thought – wrote with clear adoration and admiration for his king of present and those of the past.

Of course, Arya reflected, he could have written the scroll under knife point, and forced to make a history of how wonderful Palancar and his ancestors were. Past rulers, she had been told by Deynor of the Varden once, long ago, had certainly done that sort of thing; it made them feel better.

Still, she doubted it. Roran would never do such a thing, and the monk was clearly bursting with loyalty and love for his king and country. It was astonishing – dwarven chronicles tended to be long-winded and dry – but it seemed a healthy enough land at that time. Although every entry about elves was filled with biased words, for Palancar had fought long with the elves by the date of the scroll, and the author thought no better of dragons and Riders. How strange that someone could be so learned, yet so easily close his eyes to the truth.

Arya had not got very far yet; but she did not need to read further to know how Palancar died. poisoned by his eldest son, who was impatient to receive his inheritance; but who, in turn, fell under the weight of the mutiny that arose against his murderous deed, whereupon the Riders were alerted to this new danger from the watchtower of Utgard, and they resolved the situation with as little bloodshed as possible.

By all accounts, that was when historians lost interest in the Palancar Valley, as it was later christened. Not one of the three races kept a record of later happenings, as Palancar's valley dwindled into two small townships; so nobody knew that the royal blood still flowed, and that Palancar's family still lived.

But what Arya found astonishing, more than anything else, was that it was Roran, Eragon's cousin. She _had _underestimated him. What normal man could do what Roran Stronghammer did? To repel and fight Galbatorix's forces with no trained warriors; to gather his village together and lead them to safety at the other end of the country with the Varden; and raze the docks of Teirm, strongest and proudest city in Alagaesia, to the ground. No ordinary man, certainly. Arya hoped Galbatorix would find him to be a true threat, as much as she and Eragon; he had lived in security for too long without challenge from a fellow man.

Arya opened her eyes, glancing at Eridor, who was dozing by her side, and leant down to pick up the discarded scroll. When Eragon came back, she fully intended to be able to tell him far more about his heritage than he himself knew.

Arya spread it on her knees, but did not read it just yet: Eragon's heritage. It _was_, she supposed with a bit of surprise, though she had not previously thought of it like that. Eragon was very proud, Arya could see that in him, had always seen that him since she had first met him on the training grounds of Tronjheim. So had his ancestors been. Palancar's father had been killed by an angry dragon when he had refused to back down from an argument.

Still, Eragon was not quite _that _foolish, and thank goodness it was so. Arya smiled, and once more picked up the aged scroll, the early sunshine hot on the back of her neck, and started to decipher the old-fashioned words.

But she stopped again quite soon. _I do not understand this,_she said, putting it down with a sigh of irritation. Eridor opened his eyes and slowly stretched out his neck to look over her shoulder.

_Which?_

_These. The monk uses different names for places than we do now. _

_Does it matter? _

_There is no point in reading it if I do not understand the places he is writing about. _

_Do you have to read it? _

_No, _Arya replied patiently, _but I want to. _

_Well then, _said Eridor, equally amiably. _Find a scroll that will have translations. _

_I don't think there are any like that here. This one is rare, in any case. The library only has it as a historical record. No one would bother to translate it. _

Eridor huffed, and the parchment fluttered. Arya stared briefly at the foreign words, then started to roll it up to return to the library. _Oh, no, wait, _she said quickly. _The Dominance of Fate __that would have the current names in it. _

_What is it? _Eridor said blankly.

_Oh __the Domia abr Wyrda. Eragon has one, do you remember?_

_The book that was written by the monk that Galbatorix burned for treason. I could never forget that._

_Yes, that one. _Arya stood up, brushing the pine needle and moss from her tunic.

_To Eragon's house, then?_

Arya's eyes widened. _Oh no! I had forgotten it was there. _She sighed. _We shall have to go without it, then. _

_Can you not go and get it?_Eridor asked in all innocence.

_No! It is his _house, _Eridor. We can't go in without permission._

_You have before, _he objected in a reasonable tone. _Anyway, do you think Eragon will mind? It is not as if __as if you are going to steal his possessions, is it?_

Arya scowled. _It is rude._

_I don't think so, _Eridor said, considering this. _Really, Arya. They were always in and out of your house _he smirked in an inexplicably smug fashion – _for __**tea.**__ And how many time have you run up in a hurry to _their _house? _

_I know that, _Arya said drily, and glared back at Eridor to further her argument, but found herself suddenly short of words: Eridor made a very good argument of his own.

_I think you are making a mountain out of a molehill about this, _Eridor continued severely, and Arya only had a moment to wonder at his metaphor; learnt from Saphira, she thought. _We are quite close by, and you need the book to help you understand a chronicle of his family history, so ... _

Family history! How odd it sounded when connected to Eragon. Eridor was right, as always. There was no real reason not to. _Fine, _she said grudgingly and Eridor grinned. He knew he was clever with his tongue.

_Well then. Are you coming, my fine friend? _she asked with a touch of sarcasm.

_I suppose you will need some company, _he agreed lazily. _Or perhaps moral support?_

Arya raised her eyebrows. In one quick movement she jumped up, spun around, and leapt high on Eridor's withers, narrowly missing a long white spike.

_Oi!_he cried, a term he had copied from Eragon and used to great effect at moments such as these. _What are you doing?!_

Arya laughed, and ran lightly up along his back, her feet absolutely sure and steady.

_Catch me!_

She sat down firmly on his neck just behind his head. Eridor caught the gist of her idea, and he reared up, wings flapping. But Arya clung on, wrapping her legs tightly around his neck as she would a bucking horse.

_I have seen a laden luggage donkey move quicker than that, _she told him amiably.

_Liar! _And, without warning, Eridor threw his head back to catch her off-balance, then tipped forward before dropping his head and neck sharply downward as if bending to catch a fish in a swift river.

Arya barely had time to shriek before she hit the ground.

**OoOoO**

Vrael's old house had been beautifully made, with every carving and piece of furniture perfectly formed. Arya ran a hand along a belt of wide-eyed does and knock-kneed fawns that ran along the belt of the long staircase up to the house.

_I won't be long, _she told Eridor, hoping that no one would come by and see them there. It was quite amazing, really, how quickly any type of interesting news soon spread throughout the city, and, on occasion, the rest of Du Weldenvarden, as Arya had learnt to her cost a long time ago.

_All right, _Eridor replied. _But then you must have some sort of food._

_If you insist.,_Arya said absently, starting to climb the covered stairway. She was not really hungry, though she had not broken her fast that morning, having woken with Eridor, and followed him hunting. Still, it felt good to have someone care so very much for her welfare.

Now she hurried up the deep steps, worn into grooves with long use. The trapdoor at the top was shut, but Eragon had not bothered to lock it. For someone who carried a knife about with him wherever he went, he was remarkably trusting to the politeness of the elves of Ellesmera. She pulled the latch and climbed through.

Eragon's house was nothing like hers. Hers was – or rather, had been – light and airy, with tall windows and padded benches and tens of cubby holes and storage cupboards for scrolls, quills, ink and spare paper and parchment. She had chosen it herself, after falling out with her mother.

But this one was old, second only to the Knotted Throne itself. The fireplace was ash-grey, tiny little twisting banisters that held the grate in place; likenesses of every kind of animal existing in Ellesmera carved everywhere in perfect detail, and the floor was dark, smooth and so fine that the grain could not be seen. And Saphira's bed, a huge, curving bowl, lined with softest of blankets and stoutest of pillows was of the same wood; Arya, thinking of the thorny little copse in which Eridor slept and never complained about. She heartily wished he could have the same. Still, it was so big that he and Saphira could have shared it.

Eragon's bed as well was smooth and unadorned, long, but high as well, perhaps even wide enough to fit two people. She smiled. He had not bothered, either, to make the bed, it seemed, and the many quilts tumbled down and around it that made it look as if Eragon had thrown them up in the air beforehand.

There was a tall cupboard in the corner, and everything it it – odd scrolls, a tiny mirror, a yew-wood arrow, looking very out of place, and yet more blankets as well as Eragon's clothing – was falling out, the doors wide open. No wonder Eragon and Saphira had not taken long to get ready: he had simply plundered his own house.

Arya stared about, knowing she was being rather daft, and not knowing quite what to think or do. When Eridor poked her mind gently, she jumped.

_Have you found it?_

She blinked. _No. I ... I do not know where it could be, and I have no desire to poke about here looking for it. I think we should go._

Eridor grunted, and all of a sudden he appeared with a flutter of wings on Saphira's tear-drop portal. He looked about interestedly, and his bright, quick eyes flitted over the whole of the room

_Don't worry about Eragon noticing you have been here, _he said helpfully. _It is a mess anyway._

Arya scowled, and strode across the room to glare at Eridor. _Well, I suppose any attempt at discretion can be discontinued, now, eh? _

_I, _said Eridor, laughing at her exasperation, _never agreed to anything like that. I only said I would wait for you. _

_Very clever, _she replied, trying to sound irritated but not managing it. _Now that we have thrown all that to the four winds, I suppose I can go looking for the book, charging about like a mad bull _

_Some one is here, _Eridor interrupted quietly, but his tail flicked and his eyes grew sharp. Immediately Arya froze, and she stared at the empty doorway, torn between eagerness and reluctance for anyone to find them there; but what if it was Eragon and Saphira come back early, earlier than they had all expected, healthy and unhurt –?

There was a muffled bang from the trapdoor, and the unknown person's soft footsteps became just slightly louder as she appeared in the doorway.

"Who is there?" Arya asked sharply; the sun from the long, wide windows was in her eyes, and even her sharp eyes could could only just find the features of the person before her. "Declare yourself."

"Only me, Arya. Maud said she saw you and Eridor come here."

"Niduen!" Arya said, surprised but relieved. "What are you doing here?

Her cousin came forward, soft linen dress swishing. She did not look in the least bit surprised to find Arya and her dragon in Eragon's deserted house. "A message has come – it is addressed to the ruling person in the city. I did not read it."

Arya came forward as well, and Eridor relaxed, for he was well used to Niduen. "Is it from Ceunon?" she asked quietly, not sure if she wanted to know the answer. But Niduen shrugged, a long, sinuous gesture, and from the waistband of her dress took the message.

Arya took it slowly, and eyed the outside carefully. There was a wax seal on the back, she could feel it, but on the front it was only adorned with the words "Ruler of Ellesmera and the Elven Provinces". Puzzled by this odd title, Arya turned it over, and quickly looked to the seal.

"The Anvil and High Stars!" she exclaimed, and the letter almost dropped from her fingers. Niduen made a quick movement, as if to catch her arm.

"What is that?" she asked, but Arya had already slit the envelope and was pulling the thick vellum from inside. Her eyes ran quickly over the runes, written in the Common Tongue with the Dwarven Runes.

"By the Lost Lands," she said quietly and the envelope dropped to the floor. Niduen stared sharply at Arya, for she rarely cursed with elven words, and stepped closer. "It is from the dwarves, Niduen. From Tronjheim's chief Healer."

"The dwarves ...?" Niduen sucked her breath in sharply. "They have not contacted us directly for years upon years ... What has happened?"

"Their queen has been poisoned." Arya lifted her head and caught Niduen's eyes, and she was surprised to see the hollow look in her cousin's green eyes. "Hvedra. Eragon's foster-brother's wife."

"With what?" Niduen asked, voice hushed. Arya gritted her teeth, and glanced back at the letter.

"The Healers cannot identify it; they do not know it."

"By the Heavens," Niduen breathed, eyes wide. "How is that possible?"

"It is a rare thing. They have never experienced it before."

"And the Queen ...? Is she ...?"

Arya locked eyes with her cousin, and her fists clenched, crinkling the parchment. "She is dying, Niduen. And there is nothing we can do about. We are too far away."

There was a moment of silence; they both knew that it was too far for a rider, even the quickest, to get to the mountain-city in time; and even if they could, there was no guarantee that the antidote would be the right one. "We must tell the Court," Niduen said at last. "They must know."

Arya did not move, and she stared stony-faced across the room, where Saphira's leather saddle, worn smooth with long use, lay against the wall. "They can't do anything, Niduen. All we will do in the end is debate about the matter while she dies. "

"If there is nothing we can do," Niduen said slowly, "then we might as well go along to Tialdari Hall, and inform them, so we will be able to send an embassy."

Only Arya's respect for her cousin stopped her spitting back an angry answer. "An embassy to help them bury her in a stone vault! We do not need to help the dwarves do that, Niduen: they have become adept at burying their own dead this last century, as have we all."

Niduen eyed her sharply. "Are you listening to me? There is no antidote, and nothing we can do. Will you please do as you are supposed to? The Court will need to know."

Arya pursed her lips. "What the Court thinks, and what I think are two different things. I did not say there was no antidote, just that the dwarves do not have one. We might."

"We have hundreds upon thousands of medicines this city, Arya, as you well know," Niduen replied, as if talking to a young child. "But we cannot simply take a lucky guess, or force-feed her all of them."

"Your mother was a healer, wasn't she?" Arya asked suddenly. Niduen stared. "And you are as well, aren't you?" she pressed.

"I spend ... time in the Healing Halls," Niduen replied, her face quite blank, though she spoke warily. "I have learnt things to do with the Healing Craft. Not, cousin, that it is any concern of yours, I might add."

"Then you know the Master Healer, better than I do. Will you go to him and request of him the antidote to the poison that makes the symptoms described in this letter?" Arya waited on tenterhooks for Niduen's answer, but her cousin's pretty face was closed.

"You did not tell me the dwarves described her symptoms," she said after pause, and looking sternly at Arya. "You are starting in the middle, but expecting me to understand."

"Barzul, Niduen, I know! And I apologise," Arya said; she meant it, but the words came out too quick, sounding insincere. "I _am_sorry, Niduen. It was a shock to me, and I did not explain properly." She gazed earnestly at her older cousin. "You are the only one who can help Eridor and I. You can go to the Healers, and get an antidote that matches these symptoms most closely."

Niduen's chest heaved. She stared at Arya for a long moment more, then slowly took the letter from her hand, though she did not read it. "How do they know the Queen has been poisoned? It could be an illness, or disease ..."

"It is not," Arya said firmly. "Some skilled person has looked at her blood with magic and under a glass. It _is_ a poison."

"In the blood?" Niduen echoed, surprised. "How do they know?"

"Well ..." Arya hesitated, loathe to say what would she had to, for it would sound ridiculous to Niduen, who, Arya was sure, knew far more than just the rudiments of the Healing Arts. "Her blood is changing ... it is mutating to a different colour – so say the dwarves."

Niduen raised her curved eyebrows. "Changing colour? But that is impossible! There is no poison in all of this land that can do that."

"Are you sure?" Arya asked keenly.

"Perfectly sure. Do not think it would be well-recorded and well-known if there was such a poison? Besides ..." Niduen paused, looking uneasy. "Before we sailed to this land, only the dwarves and dragons were here, and if this mysterious poison is not one of our making in the Lost Lands over the Sea, then it must be dwarfish. But it isn't, therefore ... therefore it must be a new one, invented by Galbatorix."

Arya kept her face carefully emotionless so as not to show her disappointment, but inside she was deeply unhappy. She had thought, just now, that she had remembered something, something important, but it had gone ... "So there is no cure," she said bluntly, now looking at Niduen again. "She _will _die."

"It would seem so," Niduen replied, lowering her gaze. "Unless the dwarves can do something themselves."

Arya shook her head, for she knew it would not happen that way. But that thing was niggling at the back of her mind, and it _was_important. "But we have medicines, poison, and also antidotes here, in this city, from all over Alagaesia, from all the races that have ever lived here," she said, and clenched her fists, then winced at the rub of her raw fingers on the paper she still held.

"Not this one," Niduen said sadly, brushing a long, mahogany-coloured lock out her fair face. But suddenly a bolt of knife-sharp realisation shot through Arya, and she turned to Eridor, her idea and muddled thoughts pouring through to him, asking him to confirm it. He did; and as he did, he laughed, albeit in a choked voice.

_Who would have thought that not only was Eragon's living family so useful, but his dead ancestors as well! _Niduen stared, lost among all these streaming words and mental feelings.

"What about Eragon's family?" she asked, catching Arya's arm to remind her that she was still here. "Arya, what are you talking about?!"

Arya grinned rather fiercely, surprising Niduen with her openness. She pulled a yellow, rather tatty scroll from her belt and handed it to her. "Eragon's ancestors were the Royal family of Palancar Valley. The last king was Palancar himself, who was poisoned by his own son."

"What has this to do with anything?" Niduen asked, running eyes over the unfamiliar words and strangely-formed dwarven runes that the humans had adopted. "I did not know you were so interested in human histories!"

"Weren't you listening?" Arya said, pursing her lips. "Palancar was poisoned. There are five paragraphs devoted to it in that scroll. The monk who wrote it loved Palancar, his one and only monarch, and he is outraged at his own son murdering him. He says that the young man had taken from the treasury a poison made in their far-off homeland; it was a horrendous one, too, and Palancar took three days and another night to die, as if a real fire raged in his veins. His blood became too hot, the monk says, and his arteries burst; his head was filled with blood, and he died in agony. When they laid him out, they found that his blood had changed ..."

Niduen's eyes were wide. "Like the Queen ...?" she asked in hushed tones.

Arya nodded. "Yes."

"But how did ... whoever poisoned the poor woman – how did he get it? Palancar lived hundreds of years ago, at the height of the Riders' power ..."

Arya smiled grimly. "The monk also tells of how the Riders came from their tower of Utgard, and took Palancar's son away, leaving behind his wife and young child. They also took, says the monk, the glass vial of poison, as well as what was left in the treasury. Perhaps Galbatorix found it after he pillaged Vroengard, when he won the slaughter of Doru Areaba, or perhaps he came across it in his sneaking days as a student. But he must have fed it to Hvedra somehow ... the Black Hand, perhaps."

There was a light dawning in Niduen's blue eyes. "This must be the poison ... it has to be, there is none other like it! Quick, then; tell me its name. I will go the Master Healer, and ask if he has an antidote."

Arya's face fell. "It has a name, but ..." she glanced back at the scroll. "It is not the one it will surely be known by now; this was so long ago that the monk has different names for everything. The name of this poison is in the language they used over the Sea. Even the Master will not know it."

Niduen sighed, tilting her elegant head to the side; a silver chain, one Arya had never seen before, as Niduen rarely wore jewellery, glinted in the spring sun. "What is its translation, then?"

Arya resisted the urge to flop down onto Eragon's messy bed. "I can find none." Niduen let out another sigh, but Arya continued; "Eridor and I think, though, that the Dominance of Fate would have one. It is written in the Common Tongue."

"Ah, good," said Niduen brightly. "Where is it?"

"Eragon has the only one in Du Weldenvarden; it was gift from Jeod. That," she said, fighting a slight blush, "is why Eridor and I came here, to see if it did have translations. I did not understand the scroll."

"Did you find it?"

"I barely had time to look," Arya informed her cousin coolly. "But you are welcome to help me."

"How kind of you," Niduen replied drily. "But I do not think Eragon would appreciate me doing that, Arya ..."

"He would not appreciate his brother's wife dying, either!" Arya said quickly, starting to fold the letter back up. Niduen raised just one eyebrow this time.

"Eragon seems to have a lot of extended family."

"The more lucky for him," she replied sourly. "Come on, then, cousin. We must hurry."

Hurry they did, Niduen cautiously looking in cupboards and searching in the dining room, where she seemed to think she would embarrass Eragon least by seeing his house. Arya, too, felt rather uncomfortable; it was as if she was intruding upon the part of Eragon that he had not really ever shown her before. But, she wondered, was that because he had not wanted to, or because, as Eridor said, he was so careful of her feelings ...?

Arya looked about, wondering where Eragon would put a book, albeit a rare and valuable book. There were no clues; Eragon's existence seemed to be purely practical. There were no ornaments, or keepsakes, nor even any flowers, as she herself had had in her own house. There was food, there was blankets, there were various things, such as the little wooden bauble that woke Eragon up on time every morning, but nowhere was anything pretty, or anything simply there for enjoyment. It was a comfortable house, but Eragon did not seem to have anything of that sort to fill it. She felt a pang of some strange emotion at this apparently sparse lifestyle.

But where was the book? Arya stood, at a loss, in the centre of the room, the pulsing urgency that had briefly abated returning. Eragon was a hard person to predict.

_Have you tried the study? _Eridor asked from where he was still balanced on the sill of the portal.

_What study? _Arya demanded, turning on him.

_Saphira said that Eragon spends very much of his time in his study ... so does she, as there is an entrance for her as well. _

_Why didn't you tell me?_Arya said severely, glaring at him. _It would have saved time._

_Calm down, _he replied measuredly. _I only just remembered._

_Never mind, then_. _Where is it, do you think? _

_I will see, _he replied, dropping off the sill. _I can find the way in from outside. _There was a pause. Arya could feel his mind as he moved around the outside of the house. _Here! _he called eventually, and there was thud as he landed on the portal that Arya could not see. _To the west, the study is, I think. _

Arya glanced outside, to the noon sun that was starting to slant sideways. _I'm coming, _she told him, and made her way across the house to where she could feel him. _Found it!_

It was a narrower staircase, tooled with carvings, but they had been rubbed away with something rough, so that splinters and pale strips of the wood beneath showed. Arya raised her eyebrows in surprise. How had _that_ happened, she wondered?

It was short, this stair, and soon the sun was in her eyes again, but this it was different room. Arya looked about, surprised. It _was_ a study, but this room was made of lighter wood, and the windows wide and deep, one looking due West and the other South West. There was a writing table, littered with paper and parchment, and rows of black writing. Under the South West window, a small straw-filled couch sat, and the walls were panelled with that same light, warm wood.

There were flowers here, a bunch of wild flowers, and a soft, sweet little vine that curled around the West window. The wild-flowers – blue speedwell, wild yellow poppies, and cocksfoot grass, Arya could see – were in a thin, unadorned white vase, that nonetheless seemed to enhance their quaint beauty. There was a nice, woody sort of smell, as if the wood seeped its own scent; the afternoon sun shone on the walls, and a warm fire seemed to run around the room. Arya stared, entranced, not even noticing Eridor in the tear-drop portal in the corner, where a bed for Saphira also lay.

This did indeed seem to be the place Eragon spent most of his time. His firm, running handwriting was on a lot of the paper, and on others were the smaller words of things like the Lay of Umhodan and Mists of Avalon. The urgency had left her completely; it was a moment out of time to see this place, so beautiful, so still, yet undeniably _Eragon's._

_Come on, Arya, _Eridor said gently from the portal. _We need the book. There is a shelf of them over there. _

Arya nodded mutely, and looked up to where a single plank of wood held a few leather bound books. Her heart leapt. They were mostly nondescript, dull things, but towards the end was a large, thick book, with golden corners and gilt-embossed pages. She hurried to it and took it, running her hands over the front. She had only seen the book once or twice, but it was imposing, even for a mortal thing.

_This is it, Eridor! The Dominance of Fate._

_Excellent,_ he said, shifting his weight to a different foot. _Go back down, then, and I will meet you there. _

_All right, _Arya agreed, moving the book to her other arm. Eridor disappeared with a clap of his wings, but Arya stayed for a moment, looking at this peaceful, homely place of Eragon's that had so taken her by surprise but which was so utterly unexpected that she was still caught up in its atmosphere: this was, she felt, an Eragon she rarely saw.

But as she started down the staircase, a guilty feeling that she should not have done that entered her, and she looked down at the steps, almost ashamed. Poor Eragon – she had just walked about in that place that was clearly his and his alone, except perhaps for Saphira. He had had no say in it.

_Don't worry, _Eridor chided her as she emerged back in the main room, _you had to go and get the book. Eragon would not, and will not, dispute that. _

_I suppose so, _Arya agreed glumly. _But, Eridor ... are you ... are you ready? Will we do what we plan?_

_I will if you are resolved. It has to be done, and we can._

_We hope we can, _Arya replied; but she smiled briefly at him, at his courage, at his noble ways as she went to the dining room to tell Niduen that she had the book.

**OoOoO**

"By my faith," Niduen said, dabbing at her hot forehead with her sleeve, "I have never seen the Master so surprised! But he took me to his Antidote Room in the Healing Halls, and we looked for one that matched the one in Eragon's history book."

"Did you find it, then?" Arya asked, pausing as she poured dried figs into an earthenware jar. Without a word, Niduen produced from behind her a clear glass jar, filled with a bright orange powder that was caked against the hexagonal sides.

"It is Adurna sem Shelgr Brisingr," she said with a proud look at it.

"Water that Defeats Fire," Arya said, for she knew the translation full-well. A broad smile came of its own accord to her face. "You are quite wonderful, my cousin."

Niduen laughed, and brought the jar to her chest. "Now, I will go to the couriers' yard, and find the very swiftest to take this to Tronjheim ..." she trailed off, noticing for the first time what Arya was doing. "What is this?" she demanded, a sense of foreboding creeping over her. "Arya, why are you filling .. filling those?"

Arya's face was hidden behind a long curtain of thick black hair as she leaned over her bed, putting the lid on the pot of figs. "You will not need to go the couriers," she said in a firm voice. "Eridor and I are going to take it to her instead."

Niduen almost dropped the jar. "What nonsense are you talking, Arya?" she demanded. "Has all this excitement turned your head?"

"We have wasted one hand's span of the sun already today," Arya replied curtly, dropping a small cotton sack of sunflower seeds into another larger sack. "By the time a messenger arrives with the antidote, she will be past curing, if not dead already."

"You," said Niduen said slowly, as if not believing her own ears, "are going to fly over the most desolate, dangerous part of Alagaesia, when you have never flown by yourself before? Is that what you mean, Arya?"

"Flying is not like learning to use a bow, Niduen," Arya said, quiet in her turn. "It is a natural, wonderful thing, and it is Eridor's way of life. It will be as easy as learning to swim."

"You can't swim," Niduen said with a toss of her head. "Your mother did not allow it."

Arya raised a cool eyebrow. "I could not swim when you lived here before the Fall, you mean. I taught myself, as soon as you had left with Evadarr. Do not underestimate me, Niduen."

Niduen looked taken aback, and a quick flicker of something lit in her eyes. "You could be killed."

"Hvedra will die anyway if we are. If we are not, then perhaps she will live. We are going, Niduen. Will you try to stop us?"

"I will try to stop you throwing your lives away," Niduen replied, equally angry, equally intense. "You both and Eragon and Saphira are our last hopes against Galbatorix! Don't go, go like you always do on one of your madcap schemes!"

Arya froze as she pulled a drawstring bag closed. "What do you mean?"

"Ever since you could walk and talk, Arya, you were always impulsive, always ready to run off and follow any idea that entered your head! I thought you had changed, I thought you were much more steady now, but look at what you are doing! Madness!"

"_We_," Arya said, emphasis on that word, "are going to save a life. Do not ask me to sit here, all cool thought and logic, while someone we could save dies! Do not ask it of me, Niduen!"

_Whatever Arya's allegiances to this kingdom, I have sworn none, _Eridor said, his voice quite neutral but firm. _Arya and I are decided, and if I have to, I will take her myself, and she will have broken no rules. You are worried Lady Niduen, and scared that she will not come back. But I will give you my word, if you wish it, that we will take no unnecessary risks, and that we will be cautious. Do you wish my word?_

Niduen stared at Eridor as if she had never seen such a thing before. _I do not need your word, mighty one, to know you will do as you said. I know you would both be careful, but you cannot guard against all dangers, nor ignore them. _

_We are not powerless, nor as untrained as you think, Niduen, _Eridor replied cocking his huge head and eyeing her intently. _We have not spent these past months idling away with pen and paper. Arya wields magic, and she has long flown with Eragon and Saphira. And I would presume to say that I am not entirely powerless, either. _

Niduen stared now in wonder, and Arya thought she was probably as surprised as she, Arya, had been earlier today when Eridor had been so quick with his tongue. _That cannot be disputed,_ she said after a pause.

"We would much rather go with your help, and your blessing, " Arya said, catching her cousin's gaze.

"Your mother told me to keep you safe," Niduen whispered harshly, grabbing Arya's hand. "What would she say to this?"

Arya almost flinched at the mention of her mother. "She is not here. You are here, and you are full-filling her role remarkably."

"Arya, for everyone's sakes, please stay!" Niduen hissed, ignoring this. Her hand tightened on Arya's wrist. "You are next in line for the throne; what will I say to the Court when I tell them that both of our sovereigns are in grave danger, and that I put one of them into such danger because I was not strong enough to stop her?!"

Arya clenched her teeth, uncomfortable with Niduen's distress, which, Eridor was quite clearly communicating to her, was because she did not want Arya hurt – not because she was heir to the throne, but because she did not want to be separated again. "If we didn't have to go, Niduen, we wouldn't. But we can't have her dying when we could stop it. We _will_see each other again. Nothing in the Beor Mountains will stop us, and we will return."

"Brave words, cousin," Niduen said, sounding as if she was steeling herself. "But you need a saddle, and saddle-bags – and you do not know how to use the antidote, do you? What if you get it wrong?"

"I won't," Arya replied, pushing a cork into a bottle of elderberry wine, in case they were not able to find clean water in the Mountains. "You can show me what the Master Healer said, and I will remember. As for the saddle, we will use the spare one in Eragon's house. It is not as good as the one they have taken to Ceunon, but it will do."

A flicker of real fear danced across Niduen's face. "Is it safe?"

"Oh, yes," Arya assured her quickly. "Perfectly safe. Brom himself made it, and Eragon and Saphira have taken good care of it."

"And you know how to use it?" Niduen asked with one eyebrow arched. "I have seen these saddles of Eragon's, and they have enough straps to truss up an eel."

"We know how to use them," Arya repeated. "It only takes common sense."

Niduen gave Arya a piercing look. "So you say."

She fell silent, and Arya turned back to the bed, where she continued pack the food the wanted, as well as her small silver dagger, just in case – another thing Eragon had taught her. As she sheathed the dagger, she felt a quick pang of regret that she would not be here when he returned. She might be a week, and he would have to stay in the city and wait for her. He might be quite annoyed by the time she returned with Eridor, regardless of whether Hvedra had died or not.

"Give me a quill and some paper," Niduen said suddenly, interrupting Arya's thoughts: she had been trying to ignore her cousin to give her time to think. But now she thought she had misunderstood.

"Excuse me?"

"Give me a quill and paper, and I will write the instructions down," Niduen said in rather curt tones. "It will be safest if I write it, then you will not forget."

Arya stared carefully at Niduen, then went around the bed to the window, where she kept a small pile of paper and a short little wooden-hafted pen. Niduen took them and nodded, still curt and blank-faced, and left, saying briefly that she would write on the table outside. Arya watched her go, heart heavy. Whatever she told herself, she did not want to part in anger with Niduen, all that was left of her family.

_She is helping, _Eridor said comfortingly. _She is only worried, and sad, and scared that you will be hurt._

_I don't _want_ to worry her, _Arya said, placing all of her food into her pack; she was planning to tie to the saddle, or across Eridor's rump, as Saphira and Eragon had taken all of the saddle-bags. _But we have to do what we can for Hvedra, don't we? _

_We do, _Eridor agreed, and fell silent for a moment. _What about Eragon and Saphira? Should we leave a message, or _he broke off. Niduen had re-entered, a folded piece of thick paper in her hand.

"These are the instructions, exactly the right dose for a dwarven woman. You must follow them exactly. It is very strong, and too much could kill her outright."

Arya took the paper, and quickly cast upon it a ward to protect it from rain, and to stop it being read by prying eyes. "Thank-you, Niduen. I am ... I am sorry, that we are going, and that we will make so much trouble for you."

Niduen looked away. Her hair swung in front of her face. "You should make haste," she said in a studiedly calm voice. "The sun has lifted another half-span already."

Arya glanced outside; it was indeed closer to sunset than sunrise now. "I am finished anyway ... we are going to Eragon's house to get the saddle. What are you –?"

"You both go quickly and get it," Niduen said in answer to Arya's unfinished question. "I will follow you with this pack, and whatever else I can find to go in it."

"Thank-you, Niduen," Arya said, catching her cousin's pale, delicate hand and squeezing to show she meant it. "Thank-you. I can say no more than that."

Niduen placed her other hand on Arya's. "Be quick."

Arya resisted the urge to lean forward and embrace her cousin; it was hard enough to go away without starting such things; but she clasped Niduen's hands tightly for one brief second more.

"I will."

**OoOoO**

_Those are for your arms, _Eridor said, blowing the leather thongs so that they flew into the air. _Then the girth goes through those ones to tie onto the buckles._

Arya pulled the girth tighter so that it would fit through the flap that Eridor meant. _I know._

_We did say we would be careful, _he reminded her gently. She grunted.

_Now, lift your head for the martingale, please. _Eridor obediently did so, and Arya ran the leather lead under his chest and clipped onto the horn. _There. Done. _

_It feels strange, _Eridor said._ And it is a little narrow for my shoulders, but I think it will be fine for flying ... here comes your cousin, _he said, lifting his head to look over Arya's head from where she stood on his leg. _I think I will test it before you get on._

_All right, _Arya said leaping down off his leg and moving out of reach of his wings. Niduen was indeed coming, Arya's own pack in one hand and a long rolled-up scroll made of thick parchment in the other. There was a gust of wind as Eridor leapt into the air, and Niduen paused. But as his wing-beats faded, she came forward, dropping the pack on the floor.

"I think you have all you will need in the pack," she said without preamble. "But this is for you and Eridor ... it is from me ... and my father."

"What?!" Arya exclaimed, aghast. "Did you tell him, Niduen?"

"Of course I did," Niduen said, lifting her head. "He is my father, and I love him. He saw me packing, and I explained. He told me to give this to you with his blessing, and his compliments. He cannot come because he is going to distract Tialdari Hall until you have gone."

Arya stared. "_Why_?"

"He says he underestimated you, and he should have at least talked to you before judging you. He says that what you are doing now is exactly what ... what Uncle Evandar would have done, and ... and that he would be so very proud of you." Niduen stopped, hesitating. "He says that he has not been exemplary of a good relative, but he ... he says he is proud of you as well, and you have his blessings if you will take them."

Arya blinked, dazed. "But he seemed to dislike me so much ...! Is what you are saying true, Niduen?"

"Of course it is!" Niduen snapped back, insulted. "I do not lie, and you know it!"

"I apologise ... it is just hard to understand."

"Yes, it is." Niduen nodded. "This is his gift to you. It is his best map of Alagaesia, made just before the Fall. It is as accurate as possible. It will help you navigate your way to Tronjheim."

Arya took it, unable to believe her eyes, and opened it. It was indeed the finest of its sort that Arya had ever seen, every stream, spring and river done in blue ink, every copse of trees drawn in in minute scale; and the names were written in finest calligraphy, the pen strokes narrowing and widening in graceful fashion. "It is perfect."

"So says my father." Niduen eyed her sharply. "Will you take his blessings?"

"We have too little family left to be holding grudges, I suppose," Arya said slowly. "Yes. Please tell him I accept and acknowledge his gift and his blessing, and that I look forward to speaking to him on our return to Du Weldenvarden." She glanced at Niduen. "Together with you, perhaps?"

Niduen's eyes sparkled. "Of course I will." Her long fingers crushed Arya's. "Do you know how stubborn you are? I have waited months for you to say those words, and only now in face of such danger do you release that old grudge – what would your mother say?" Niduen laughed. "She will be so surprised when she comes back!"

Arya smiled a little, her rather dark mood lightening briefly. "I think she also must be grateful to my forgiving ways."

Niduen chuckled. "We will have to see, then, when she comes back."

Arya turned away slightly, watching but not seeing Eridor drop back down with his newly-fitted saddle on his back. "When she comes back," she repeated quietly. For some reason, she could not envisage that future moment. It unnerved her quite a bit.

_Are you all right? _Eridor asked, rolling his shoulders under the saddle.

_Fine, _she replied, and briefly told him in a quick succession of words and feelings about Evadarr's map.

_How is the saddle?_

_It is an odd sensation, but it does fit. Saphira's side must be narrower than mine; the horn is quite high, but I think you will stay on well enough. And the straps all work, don't they? _

_You are very comforting, _Arya said drily, tugging on the straps that would secure her legs. _Are you used to it now? We must set off as soon as we can. _

_Yes, I am quite comfortable with it, _Eridor replied. _How will you put the pack on? _

_I brought some twine rope from the Varden, _she said, pulling the coarse rope from where it was bound about the top of her pack. _I will tie it around the horn, I think, and then it will lie flat. _

_Be quick, then. _Eridor knelt down so that she could stand on his foreleg and secure the pack, and Arya climbed up, starting to lash the ends of the pack to the horn. Niduen watched with a preoccupied expression, and there was deadly silence. The sun was getting ever lower, and when Arya had finally jumped down from Eridor's back, she found the light did not come over his withers.

"My father will not be able to distract the Court much longer," Niduen called, hurrying forward. "You must go, now."

"I know." Arya stared at her cousin, feeling a pang at their eminent parting. "Farewell, in that case."

"I will be waiting for you both," Niduen promised, and she leaned forward and hugged Arya, pressing her cool lips to her cheeks. "Be safe, and come back to us."

"I will." Arya slowly did the same, hugging Niduen for the first time since they were tiny children. "We promise you."

"Good," Niduen said softly, standing back and squeezing Arya's hand one more time. "You have to go, and quickly."

"I am." Arya turned away, back straight, and went to Eridor, jumping to the joint of his legs, then pulling herself easily into the saddle. It was odd to be sitting in the front when she had been so used to being behind Eragon. Niduen was already going away to watch their take-off from a safe distance; her gown was ghostly pale in shadows of the trees.

_Ready then?_

Arya swallowed, her throat dry. She leaned down to tie slip knots about her legs, then prepared loop-holes for her arms in case Eridor had to perform any tricky manoeuvres. She pulled on the knots of her pack to check them, then shoved her feet securely into the stirrups. And, with one last glance at Niduen, alone in the shadows, took a deep breath.

_Ready._

**:To Be Continued:**

_Please tell me what you think of the study part, and Arya and Eridor! Thanks!!_


	46. Lake KosthaMerna

Lol, well, I think this is pretty quick. I've been working and riding and controlling sisters nonstop, so you're lucky there's more than 1 page here!

Anyway, thank very much for all those lovely reviews - I managed to to reply to most people, I think, but for the last three or so, I haven't been able to get to the caravan! I'm sorry, but I read and thanks very much for taking the time to write them!

Chapter Forty-Six.

Lake Kostha-Merna

Arya leant forward, holding the front of the saddle horn, legs and arms braced for the impact of take off. Eridor's strong back legs bunched, and he curled his head; then all off a sudden leapt upwards, the sudden rush of air caching Arya by surprise. She ducked her head and the wind surged over her; in the gap between her arm and the saddle, she saw the ground disappearing rapidly as Eridor climbed higher, and Niduen grew smaller and smaller, her dress soon diminishing to only a splash of pale colour in the dark of the trees.

_Are you all right? _Eridor asked. Arya raised her head, looking down at the forest she was leaving behind. Never had she once dreamt that she would be leaving like this, riding a dragon bonded to her!

The wind blew her hair about her face, and birds screeched as Eridor came past, warning him away from their nests and young. Arya turned and watched with growing wonder as Du Weldenvarden grew further away, every beat of Eridor's wings taking them further. She could see miles behind her, waves upon waves of green trees, and the odd glimpse of brown clearings as the rolling hills disappearing into a blue haze leagues away.

Arya held the saddle tightly, entranced: she had flown above Du Weldenvarden before with Eragon and Saphira, but it was another thing entirely to climbing steadily upwards on a dragon bonded to her on a flight that did not end in returning to the safety of the city, but which stretched on ahead with indefinite boundaries and uncertain ends.

She laughed aloud, revelling in the freedom that was suddenly at hand; and Eridor puffed a cloud of smoke from his nose, amused at her for what most would see as an utterly uncharacteristic thing for her to do.

_Do you see why I so wanted us to fly? When this war is over __–_here he faltered. Both of them knew that perhaps Eridor would not live to see his first year; – _when it is over, we can always fly together, always be up here, away from those bothersome things that happen on the ground. This is where it is us, and only us, where other elves and men and dwarves cannot command what we do. _He turned his head, a solemn but lively glint in his eyes. _This is where we are free, free forever!_

And he laughed, which involved much rumbling in his throat. More smoke roiled over his back, and in sheer joy he rolled over, tipping his right wing down, and twisting; Arya gasped, the legs straps tugging as she hung up-side-down, then her arm straps as he tilted sideways.

_Eridor! _

He stopped, coming upright like a barrel bobbing on water, and looked back, a look of pure enjoyment on his face. _What?_ But Arya could only shake her head; speech eluded her.

_You see why I love to fly? I wish very much that I never had to land, that all needed was in the sky ... but even I become tired. _

_I can see why. _Arya scratched him in place by his shoulder that she knew he liked, words still slow to come. _It was ... like ... like nothing I have ever felt before. I promise you, Eridor, that if we defeat Galbatorix, we shall live as much in the air as on land. _

_I know. _The rolls of overwhelming emotion from Eridor washed over her, and Arya felt a lump come to her throat; rarely had she heard Eridor speak so fervently, and with such feeling. _I cannot wait until that time comes. A curse on Galbatorix that he would deny it us._

_Aye. _Eridor flicked his tail, a flare of anger in his mind. _I have sometimes wondered why Galbatorix did what he did ... surely he loved his dragon ... surely she would not have wanted him to wreak havoc on their land, or to bring such misery._

Arya nodded, the joy of flying fluttering away from her: when she had been younger she had wondered so many times in the dark loneliness of her bedroom why a Rider – the noblest, best, proudest of all beings – had wanted to kill her father. She had not understood. She had thought that Vrael had betrayed her and her family. _It is good, then, that she cannot see what he became._

_I suppose so. _Eridor fell silent; Arya could tell that he was still in his mind churning the idea of Galbatorix's first dragon over in his head, and she understood why. Before Eridor had hatched, it had been simpler to think of him as a Usurper and a traitor - which he was, certainly - but now it was almost incomprehensible that he became those things: the love she felt for Eridor was so powerful, so true, that she would rather die than live without him. She could not understand why he would sully his first dragon's memory by hatching another for himself, and then proceeding to murder so many people, and cause such suffering. It would be better, she was sure, to lay down and die.

But Brom, Brom had lost his dragon - Eridor's mother, though she was still not used to thinking that - and survived it, yet had not turned into another Galbatorix. He was the one responsible for saving what was left of the old world, and creating the Varden. He was responsible for stealing Saphira's egg, and training Eragon: he was Eragon's father! And Arya knew that if the Varden won, there would be no person more deserving of their thanks than Brom of Kuasta.

_Eridor, _she said slowly. _Eridor, after the war - _she did not acknowledge that it might never happen - _after the war, we should visit Brom's grave. I did not have a chance to see it when we were there on the way to Helgrind. _

Eridor was silent for a moment._ I agree. I never met him, yet we owe so many things to him … and he is Eragon's father._

_And your mother's Rider._

_That too. _Eridor sighed sadly. _Galbatorix denied Saphira and I the right to know our parents, you to live your life with your father, Eragon to live with his own parents … I am glad we will have a chance to fight him … and Shruikan. _Eridor's voice changed to a hiss of hate. _That one, he is a traitor to his own race. He will learn to fear Saphira and I, I swear upon my honour._

Arya smiled grimly. _Oh, he will. When he finds who he is fighting, then he will fear us. He will wish he has not made so many powerful enemies. _

Eridor sent a silent agreement to her; Arya clenched her fists on the leather straps that were for binding her hands. She hoped that Galbatorix had not forgotten the elf-king he had killed at the slaughter of Doru Areaba, her father; or forgotten that Brom, his greatest enemy, had trained his son himself … and Eragon had also been trained by Oromis and Glaedr. It was fine wealth of names, to be sure.

There was a gust of strong air; Eridor breasted it easily, and dipped downwards. Arya glanced down, and blinked in surprise. Only a half-league away was Edur-abr-Braoal, a cluster of five fair-sized prominences of rock that were only two leagues from Kirtan. Kirtan was the closest elven settlement to the fringes of the forest, and only two dozen leagues away was the Hardarac Desert.

_Do you want to stay inside Du Weldenvarden to sleep tonight, or shall we camp in the Desert? _Eridor asked, looking at her briefly.

Arya sighed. She did not like the Hardarac Desert, however it was traversed. _We must go as far as we possibly can … as far as you can fly without injuring your muscles, that is._

_Hm. _Eridor flicked his tail in annoyance. _In that case we shall keep going until I can go no further …_ _though I would like to see that map, to check the distance. It is easier to fly with a target in mind. _

_I see._ Arya watched the five rocky hills beneath them pass by. _We will not be able to cross the Desert in one go, Eridor. It is huge, and we have many leagues already. _

_Aye, well, _Eridor said, barrelling sideways a little in a pocket of the East Wind. _We can but try. _

**OoOoO**

Arya shifted her feet in their sheepskin boots; it was getting cold, and there was not a cloud in the darkening sky. Du Weldenvarden had long since disappeared behind them: now only the very edges were visible, as small as a chicken-coop fence. Now the ground beneath them was more sandy, a strange colour in the dusk. There were far fewer streams and no homesteads at all: there was nothing on the foremost horizon. All was flat, and silent, and empty.

Eridor was not yet tired, but he lifted his wings as little as possible, and glided as long as he could, though there was now no wind at all. All spring heat the day had formally had had gone, and now it was dry in an unpleasantly icy way: Arya knew that a frost was coming, and was not looking forward to it. The Hardarac Desert was intensely hot during the day, yet at night the temperature dropped in a most surprising way, so that travellers had to have at hand many blankets and good fire.

_This is a very strange place, _Eridor said; he had been taking the sight of the Desert in since they had left the forest. _So flat …! And there are no trees … and so few animals … I never even imagined there was such a place as this. _

Arya smiled a little; Eridor had only ever seen the vast expanses of Du Weldenvarden, even when in the air. Now he observed this chance to see the wider world with open amazement. _It is a very cold place, _she said ruefully. Eridor tossed his head.

_Saphira told me about it, but I never expected anything like this! Is there anything stranger than this? _

_This is the heart of Alagaesia, _Arya conceded, _but the lands surrounding it are far more wondrous … and wetter. There are the Floating Disks of Eoam … there is Tronjheim, carved out of the centre of a volcanic crater, the city we are going to … and there is the sea, Eridor, where my people first came from._

_You did not come from the sea,_ Eridor objected mildly.

_No, but upon we sailed. All our most cherished lays are tales of the sea. Of all the wonders of this land, the sea is closest to our hearts. _

_I know, _Eridor said solemnly. _Describe it to me._

_I … I can't. _Arya faltered. _I have never seen the sea. _

_Never?_

_My travels never took me to the coast; and even if they had, it is too dangerous … the humans have settled all along the coast … our invasion at Gil'ead is the closest we elves have been to the sea for a century. _Arya stared away at the orange horizon and the falling sun. _I have never seen it, _she repeated dully. Eridor said nothing for a moment.

_I suppose, then, that that is another thing we shall do when we have conquered the Usurper?_

_I suppose so, _Arya agreed. But she did not reply, and Eridor fell silent. The ground below became steadily drier and drier; there were no breaks in the empty vista now, just miles upon miles of sand. The sun became redder as it lowered to only an inch above the desert; Eridor's wing-beats continued steadily on, the only sound in all of the deserted plain.

--

Arya struggled with the straps of her pack that was strapped across Eridor's shoulders with fingers that were clumsy and red with the cold. Carefully opening the top flap and fumbling with the toggles, she extricated a thick wrap, lined with sheepskin and good leather. It had, in fact, been a gift from Ajihad, as the elves did not make clothing like this one.

She pulled it over her shoulders, covering her back and tucking her hands into the sides. It was bitingly cold now, and there was a dew falling from the sky, freezing as it came. Arya clenched her teeth, hating the raw dryness of the atmosphere.

There was no more conversation: Eridor was desperately uncomfortable; the saddle was too high at the withers, and too wide at the sides. It chafed his shoulders and Arya could feel through their link his increasing discomfiture. But he would not stop, and Arya had not even bothered to ask him: they would keep going further and further and on and on until they could go no further; and then they would carry on in the morning, undaunted.

**OoOoO**

Eridor's breath steamed and plumed above his head, and Arya's fluted in tiny puffs from her lips. It was so cold that it hurt to breath in deeply, and her breath was shallow as a result. The icy air clawed at her face and the dew had settled and frozen on her hair, her clothes, even Eridor's scales. She sat immobile, too cold to move, too filled with Eridor's own discomfort to notice her own.

Arya shuddered, the cold biting deep into her marrow-bones. Her lips were dry, but she had not thought to bring any nalgask to rub into them; the wrap was not quite big enough to encompass all off her torso while she sat on Eridor, and her neck was exposed; if she pulled it up, her lower back was uncovered.

Eridor was so exhausted, she so miserable, that it was hard to determine whose pain was whose: Arya shoulders hurt with the ache of Eridor's wings: Eridor's head beat with the pain of the frozen air on Arya's forehead. It was utterly wretched.

Eridor lifted his head slowly to look ahead and Arya felt a corresponding ache in her neck. Even as he lifted his wings high again, she slumped forward, resting her cheek on Eridor's frosted side, to sore to stay upright any longer.

_Count the leagues, _Eridor said laboriously. _I will not stop until I can no longer support us in the air. Count the leagues. _

Arya nodded, water trickling down her face and sticking her damp hair to her face. Her hands curled.

_I will. _

**OoOoO **

And she did. She stared down at the unchanging desert, eyes open and unblinking. The air that gusted from Eridor's wings made them water, and the cold of his scales seemed to penetrate deep inside, slowly immobilising her face, freezing her cheeks and lacing her forehead with frost.

It did not change, down there on the ground. Sometimes there were dead, crabbed old trees; sometimes clusters of spiny cactuses; occasionally a pile of stone-dry rocks. But in between were miles upon miles of blackness. Even Arya could not see any colour; the sand had taken on the exact colour of the night sky.

The moon had risen high, though Arya did not look up at it, slumped as she was on Eridor's shoulders. It was crescent moon, and it shone in milky, glinting bands on Eridor's wet flanks.

Still Arya did not move, and still Eridor lifted and dropped his wings, and the thin moon watched as they struggled on across the empty world.

**OoOoO **

Eridor shuddered. His whole body shook, and tremors ran through the muscles that moved his wings. _How many leagues? For I can go no further._

Arya clenched her teeth against a shudder that would have made her words tremble. _Please land._

_I will. _Eridor heaved a great sigh, trying to contain the exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm him. _Buckle the arm-straps._

Arya pushed herself upward, feeling the ice on her clothes crack and frost fall from her hair. The straps made for her arms were stiff and slick with the same ice that covered her and Eridor. She opened the loops and fastened them about the crook of her arms, and then pulled them tight, feeling it smart her skin.

Eridor touched her mind to tell her was going to land, and that he would not be able to do it very neatly; and then he dropped, curling his wings and angling downwards, so that Arya had to duck her head to keep from being blown backwards.

He was not more than twenty feet from the ground when he lifted his poor, trembling wings again to slow them; and then, after a split-second of hanging motionless, he thumped down to the ground, landing all four feet square, and crouching to lessen the impact on his knees. Arya swayed with him, biting the inside of her mouth to keep from gasping as it rubbed her sore legs.

_Can you sleep here? _he asked, stretching his head down, breath coming in great gasps. Arya turned her head to look about, but there was nothing; just flat sand and a few bare rocks.

_I will put up wards first __…__ Yes, I suppose so. _She took her stiff, frozen feet from the stirrups, her leggings itching the skin at the back of her knees and leaned forward, preparing to swing her leg over his back. But before she could do so, Eridor's knees buckled, and he dropped to the ground, head hanging. Alarmed and worried, Arya jumped clumsily down from his back, staggering a bit as she landed off-balance.

_Are you hurt? _she demanded, rushing to his side, and running her hand over his trembling muscles. _Did you pull your tendons -? _

Eridor hung his head, and did not reply. Arya knew he was exhausted, that he was probably unable to speak, but in his mind a strange feeling filled his thoughts, and Arya did not understand it.

_What is wrong? _she asked, kneeling by his head and rubbing his cheek. Eridor did not open his eyes.

_You must prepare a camp; I know that there are nomads in the Desert, and we do not want to be surprised by them. _

_All right. _Arya briefly pressed her head to the crook of his neck, wishing she could do more. _It will not take long __…__ then I can draw water for you from the soil, I think. _

_Thank-you, _he said gratefully, and, seemingly drawing on some other strength, opened his eyes and looked about. _It looks exactly the same as everywhere else in this place __…__ so flat __…_

_I know. _Arya stood up with little difficulty and moved over to his shoulder, climbing on his leg to undo the knots on her pack. These, too, were frozen stiff, and she fumbled with them for long moments before they came loose. It was strangely heavy, Arya noticed as pulled it down: surely she had not packed so very many items?

Still, she brought it close to Eridor's flank, and opened the neck. She had covered the top with her blankets and bedroll in case of bad weather, and pulled them out with little difficulty.

_These are not mine! _she exclaimed, looking in disbelief at the thick, barely-used rugs that she held in her hand. _What has Niduen done? She could not possibly have taken some one else__'__s -?_

Eridor watched in detached surprise as Arya dug deeper into the pack, alarmed. But the clothes she pulled out where definitely hers, and the pots of figs and dried food were the ones she had packed in Niduen's house. But there were far more than she remembered - small glass jars filled with various ointments. Arya opened one, and stared incredulously at it: it was nalgask, the very thing she had been wishing for earlier that evening! And in another jar was a strong tea tree paste; in another, salt.

Eridor huffed quietly. _It seems your cousin did not approve of your packing. _

Arya shook her head slowly: how did Niduen manage to do everything so quickly, so efficiently, and so quietly? Islandzadi would have glowed with pride, but Arya smiled a little, overcome with the knowledge that Niduen cared … no one, ever, had done such a thing for her; never.

_Blood is thicker than water, _Eridor said, and Arya agreed. It was, after all, something only a family member would for another … she was very glad she had accepted Evadarr's blessing.

_Now we truly have something to return home for, _she said quietly to Eridor, then returned to what she had been doing; Eridor still trembled with fatigue and now he was also cold.

Quickly she placed her sleeping roll on the ground, then suspended it with magic, as the scorpions and other dangerous creatures would attack anything on the floor; Eridor shifted slightly to the side, his breathing retuning to normal. Arya lifted her hand, conjuring a glowing light to see by.

_I wish we could have fire __…__ I do not think there is anything to burn, and I do not have the energy to make a purely magical one. _

_If you do not need one, then do not worry; a poor dragon indeed I would be if I could not manage without. _

_All right. Are you thirsty? There is plenty of moisture in the earth, I can draw it up, if you wish?_

_Yes .. Thank-you._

_Hm. _Arya glanced about, wondering if was any particular place in which to do this, but in the end decided to make the hole close to Eridor, so he would not have to stand on his tired legs. It was easy to shift the sand and make a broad, shallow dent in the earth.

"Reisa," she said sharply, not bothering to say much more, as she knew perfectly well what she was doing. The hole soon filled in most bizarre way, pushing itself upwards from the sand. The water was a little green, but good enough, she thought. Eridor plunged his nose into, taking long, grateful draughts as if he was drinking the clearest, coolest spring-water there could ever be.

Arya flopped down beside him, ignoring the beating behind her head that made her sight spin. With hands that were even colder than before, she pulled her water-skin from the pack, gulping it down as eagerly as Eridor had done, relishing it more than she could ever remember doing. She poured it into her hands, then threw it on her face; the headache abated somewhat, and she sat back against Eridor's side. The ball of green light she had conjured cast everything a strange glow, and Eridor looked extremely bight, the green of his scales enhanced.

Still, it was very lonely, sitting together, the only objects in sight, their little glowing light the only light; Arya did not particularly want to sleep, for it did not seem a good idea to be unaware of anything around them.

_If you want to sleep, Eridor, I will keep watch. _

_Are you sure? _Arya could tell he was barely keeping his eyes open, but was quite determined not to give in until he was sure all was well.

_Yes, of course. I have done nothing, and you so much. _She gave patted him soundly on his side. _I will get into my bedroll to stay warm, but I am not tired. _

Eridor grunted. _Very well, but you must wake me at some time. _

_I will._

Eridor turned his head and licked her face tenderly. _Thank-you. _

Arya smiled as she bent down to remove her boots, tucking the tops of them into each other so that nothing could get inside. Then she lifted the blankets on her bedroll, slipping inside, and pulling them tight over shoulders; it was so cold that she curled up, hugging her knees to her chest. _Good night, Eridor. Sleep well._

_Aye __…__ Do not hesitate to wake me if you need me. _

_I will, but you really have to rest. How will I explain to Eragon and Saphira that I let you fly until you collapsed?_

Eridor grunted, but gave in; he curled his head around his front, and lifted his wing, dropping it so that it covered Arya in a warm, safe cocoon in the midst of the wilderness.

**OoOoO **

There was blue haze in the distance underneath a wide band of yellow, and the sun was already bright and clear; Arya stared at it as Eridor took one last, long drink from the water she had drawn that morning. It was only a little past dawn, but Arya could already feel a tingle on her skin where the sun's warmth fell.

_Come then. We must go as far as we can before the sun gets too hot, _Eridor said, stretching, and twitching with dislike as the saddle chafed his sore shoulders. Arya had tried to cure them, and had rubbed his withers with diluted tea-tree oil from the jar Niduen had placed in her pack, but it had not really worked; so this morning she had fitted a wad of soft felt between the saddle and his scales, but was not overly hopeful of it working.

_I__'__m coming. _Arya carefully checked the knots on the saddle; there many straps and buckles, and she was not quite confident in her ability to do each and every one. _You__'__re not hungry, are you?_

_No. When we get to the mountains I can catch something. _Arya nodded, and started to climb up his side; he winced as the saddle shifted on his sore flesh. _Thank goodness Eragon and Saphira will be able to make a new saddle for us. I would refuse to carry you if I had to continue carrying you with this thing. _

_Well, you__'__ll have to grin and bear it, _Arya said gloomily, strapping her legs and arms down. She had stayed awake longer than Eridor had wanted; and when she had finally woken him up, he had been very uneasy, for he had never been in such an unprotected place, and did not like the idea of not knowing what was around him. In the end he had stretched out his mind, as he would have done in meditation, so that he would be able to feel the minds of any approaching predators.

_Yes, I will. And you should go to sleep. _

_Sleep? _Arya said incredulously, swaying as Eridor prepared to take off. _What do you mean?_

_You stayed awake far too long last night - _although they had only stayed in their tiny camp a little over six hours - _because you are stubborn. It is quite cool now, you can sleep in the saddle. _

_I will, _said Arya imperiously, _if I feel tired. I am not tired. I am aching. _

_You are not the only one. _Eridor sighed, then leant back, preparing to take off._ And close your eyes._

_Wh-? _Arya started to say, but soon found out. As Eridor's powerful back legs kicked backwards and he lifted into the air, a large cloud of yellow sand blew up, enveloping Arya in a choking, bluff-coloured cloud.

_Pah! _She spat the sand from her mouth, trying frantically to untie her arms; but the sand in her eyes hurt, and she dared not open them to look at the knots. Eridor pulled level, gliding for a moment. Arya quickly pulled her arms from the loops and rubbed her eyes, blinking and willing the tears to come quickly, and wash away the grit.

_Sorry, _Eridor said, starting to angle a little further north, as Farthen Dur was South East from their current position. _I didn__'__t think. _

_Never mind, _Arya said, batting at her face with the end of her sleeve to brush off the rest of the sand. _I__'__ll remember next time. _

Eridor chuckled. _Yes, I__'__m sure you will. _

_Mm. _Arya brushed her hair away from her face - filled as it was with sand - and felt more fall down her face, feather-light. _How long do you think until we reach Farthen Dur?_

_I cannot be sure .,.. I have never flown such a distance before. Still, we flew from three hours past noontide to long after nightfall. What do you think? You will know the distance in miles and leagues, I suppose?_

_Not really. The Hardarac Desert has never been measured. _

_Ah. I think we are nearing half-way through it on a South-West diagonal. By nightfall we may get to the outskirts of the Beor Mountains __…__ I afraid we will have to stop more often today. It will get terribly hot soon. _

_Yes, it will. Oh, I do detest this place, Eridor. _She scowled down at the dry, orange sand below them, which was covered only by a thin strip of cloud. _But it is necessary._

_Yes, it is. _Through their connection Arya felt a tremor of worry run through him. _I hope she is still alive. I hope we can save her._

_I hope so too. _Arya gripped the pommel of her sword tightly, imagining the terrible fate of the woman: she knew perfectly well how it was to have poison coursing through your veins, to know that you will die, and that you are helpless to stop it. She would not wish that fate on anyone. _Orik will be devastated. First his parents, then Hrothgar, and now his wife. _

_Eragon tells a lot of stories involving Orik. They are foster-brothers, aren__'__t they? _

_Yes, they are. _A sudden thought occurred to Arya. _He and Saphira will want to know who did it, especially if __…__ if she dies. _

_He will be furious. _

_I know. And, you know, Eragon can vote as member of Durgrimst Igeitum. If they catch the one responsible, he will have a hand in the decision of what to do with him. _

_If they do not simply kill him themselves, _Eridor said with some satisfaction. _And no one but Galbatorix will lament his passing, the filthy rat._

Arya smiled grimly, liking this comparison. _Then he will have to beware the hunter._

**OoOoO **

She did sleep in the end. It was pleasantly warm as the morning neared eleven, and it was a delightful change from yesterday, that Arya quite easily closed her eyes and feel into slumber, uncomfortable though it was. Not nearly as comfortable as falling asleep when there was someone else to fall asleep on, though this had made her deeply embarrassed when it had occurred. The only person she had ever ridden a dragon with, was Eragon …

And when she woke up, it was only because of a strange sensation on the back of her neck, a very unpleasant sensation. It hurt.

Arya opened her eyes, surprised to find a light sheen of sweat covering her face, the back of her neck itching and the sun hot on her back. Slowly she reached up, feeling the skin, and recoiled with a sharp grunt: it was sore and hot, burnt by the hours she had spent leaning forward, dead to the world, in the saddle.

_Are you all right? _Eridor asked quickly, turning a little to gaze at her with concern.

_Yes, I suppose so. My skin is burnt, I think, _she said with some surprise. She had never had such a thing happen to her before: she had never travelled in such a hot place in the daylight.

_Will you be all right?_

_Yes. I will put a wet rag on it. _Eridor accepted this and turned his head forward again; he was carefully navigating his way to the mountain-city, as the straighter the route, the less travelling.

Arya extracted her water skin from the top of her pack and tipped a very careful amount onto a rag that had enclosed a jar of healing spice, then put it on her hot neck. It felt instantly better.

_How long did I sleep, Eridor? _

_Two hours, perhaps, but you certainly needed it._

_Thank-you very much, _Arya said acidly. _But it is starting to b hot. Do you need water?_

_Yes, thank-you. It is so dry here, I hope we do not have to come her often after this._

Arya smiled, the sun so hot it seemed to creep down her neck. _Barring the return journey._

_Aye __…__ but it will be more leisurely, at any rate._

_If only our errand proves successful. _

Eridor said nothing.

**OoOoO**

Eridor stopped for a brief few minutes, so that he could drink the water she drew from the soil for him, and as he drank, Arya also took out her water skin, and took a long, deep draught. She did not bother to be sparing, as she could fill it as often as she needed. But she did take off her tunic, made of thick felt as it was, and stifling in the sun. She climbed back onto Eridor wearing only a thin undershirt - which way more of a nightshirt, as she had slept in it the previous night - but did not care. There was, after all, no one to see her in this shocking state.

_Be careful, _she warned Eridor as he moved off again, still angling directly South East. _There are more sources of water near the edges of the desert, and there are many tribes of nomads. They must not see us, in case word comes to Galbatorix. _

_Aye, I know. But what about when we get to the dwarf-city? Hundreds of people will see us, it is unlikely that word will not reach Galbatorix __…_

_I did not think of that. _Arya's heart sank. _But we cannot turn back now, can we?_

_Of course not! _Eridor exclaimed, shocked. _But we must be prepared to face the consequences of our actions._

_Do not worry, _Arya said, rubbing beds of sweat from her head. _I have been accepting the consequences of my actions for many a year, and none of them good. I only wish that this time there would be a change._

_All we can do is trust to other peoples__'__ goodness, _Eridor said, sounding weary. _One day, there will come a time when there will be no more spies and black magic._

_Perhaps. But it need not be this day __…__ it will not. _Arya knew this with great certainty. It had never happened in the past; the only way to survive was by your own will._ You cannot trust to strangers__'__ kindnesses, not any more, Eridor._

He did not reply.

**OoOoO**

They had stopped for water once more, and this time Eridor had consented to rest a little. Only a little, as Arya had said as she scolded him, but he flew on with a steadiness that he had not had yesterday, a new endurance.

And she sat astride him, feeling as if she were slowly being cooked in a very dry pot. And although the air was devoid of moisture, sweat trickled down her back, her neck, and her torso; and her hair clung to her face. In the end she took a thin linen nightdress - why Niduen had deemed it necessary to have it, she did not know - and arranged it around her head so that it afforded some protection against the sun's hot rays.

But before she had done that, it had been unbearably hot: her cheeks still tingled unpleasantly with heat that no longer shone on them, and the sun glare made her head hurt. Perhaps this was what a piece of the jerky the dwarves were so fond of felt like when it was laid out in the sun to dry.

_What a delightful comparison, _Eridor said. _Although it would be made even more delightful if you had some jerky in your pack._

_Don__'__t tease me, _Arya said, taking another measured gulp of water. _It__'__s too hot. _

_I won__'__t, _Eridor said kindly. _I am not truly very hungry. _

_Good, _Arya said fervently. _But if you are hungry __…_

_I shall manage, _Eridor said. Arya shook her head.

_At Tronjheim, you shall receive the finest meat that has ever been served._

_I look forward to it, _Eridor said dryly. _But until then, you should concentrate on feeding yourself._

_I am not hungry, _she said truthfully. She had not eaten since that morning. _The heat takes away any hunger I might ordinarily have had. All I want to do is drink, all I can feel is heat and thirst._

_Wretched place, _Eridor said. _I do not quite understand why Saphira likes this place so very much. _

_To each his own_, Arya said, smiling. But there was little talk after this. It was too hot, too tiring, too difficult to do much more than stay awake. And Eridor's saddle chafed him; the flesh beneath his scales was starting to rub right down to the flesh.

And in each of their minds was a growing feeling, also, of being too late, too slow to save Hvedra, too late to save the life had set out to.

**OoOoO**

Now it was not just her face and back of her neck that was burnt and stinging, but her arms and the small of her back. Nothing seemed to be able to keep the sun out, and for the first time Arya had a feeling that while the elves might not be subject to maladies of the flesh, they were just as likely to get sunburnt as a horse with a white nose.

It did hurt, however. Arya knew the power of nature, of how it could destroy people, crops, and animals with any means, but this was a new thing, to be directly underneath its destructive power.

Eridor hurt far worse. Arya for a long time did not notice how red her limbs were for she had only noticed Eridor's pain, the pain in his wings, his poor, sore withers and the way the sun dried his eyes, so that he wept slow tears. And she felt wretched that he was so miserable, and wished that she could do something to avoid him being hurt.

_When we get to Tronjheim, _she swore silently, uncaring of whether of Eridor heard or not, _some one will pay for hurting Hvedra, for making us do this. _

Eridor's tongue flopped out of his mouth as he snapped his jaws in agreement. The burning sun still fell on his bright eyes, and a large, silver tear fell from the corner of his eye; it rolled down his long face and fell with a sparkle of crystal onto the plains below, one tiny bit of moisture in all the god-forsaken landscape.

**OoOoO**

Arya started with surprise and excitement, brushing the nightdress she had wrapped about her head away from her face for a moment: in the distance many snowy-white peaks and starkly grey mountain-tops could be seen, rising from the haze of heat.

_The Beors, Eridor! Can you see them?! _

_Yes, _Eridor said, sounding exhausted, though a little pleased. _I thought we must; I have been seeing far more ponds and streams for at least a mile now. _

_Oh, good, _Arya said, immediately imagining nice deep blue ponds and clear, running water. _Do you want to stop for a drink? _

_Yes, but no need to draw water now. _Eridor directed her gaze with his mind to the ground, where a thick little stream emptied into a pool; and, to Arya's amazement, a small stand of stunted aspen trees stood around it.

_Hold tight. _

This time Eridor slowed more gracefully, pulling up and landing back feet first. Arya slithered off quickly, finding that her feet sank into slightly damp, brown grass. Eridor ambled after her as she splashed into the pool, only stopping when it reached her knees.

_Come on then! Have a drink! _She laughed, and, unable to stand the heat any longer, even though they were at present shaded by the aspens, threw herself in, sinking underneath the water in absolute bliss.

It was so wonderful to feel the red-raw feeling of her exposed limbs disappear as the cool water soothed it, as it soaked her clothes and washed the sweat and dirt and sand away. Eridor watched with some amusement, but, as he was far too big to swim as Arya was, he contented himself with plunging his head under the water and trying to drink it all at once.

Her clothes were quite heavy, and Arya pulled off her leggings and retrieved her nightdress-headscarf from where it had dropped in the shallows, and plonked them by Eridor's submerged head.

_Have you finished drinking all this lovely water? _she demanded, tapping his forehead genially. Eridor snorted and lifted his head, water pouring off him and splashing on Arya, who was far too wet to care at all.

_Yes, thank-you. _He gave her a shove in the back, so that she stumbled forward and fell with a crash back into the water. _Are you feeling better now?_

_Much, thank-you, yourself. _Arya grinned at him, pulling her sopping hair back from her face. _Come here, let me take that saddle off you. Then I__'__ll be able to bathe you shoulders, seeing as we have an abundance of cold water. _

Eridor obediently padded forward, though his great weight made him slide quite deeply into the silt at the bottom of the pool. Arya undid the buckles and straps quicker than had ever done before, and dragged it to lie on the scabby ground at the shore.

Eridor rolled his great shoulders, greatly relieved to have it off. Arya perched herself on the tip of his knee-joint, which was just above the water and inspected his withers and shoulders.

_Oh, you poor thing, _she said, gently touching it with a forefinger. Much to Eridor's credit, he did not flinch. Through his neatly-fitted shining scales, tiny chinks of skins were visible, and the flesh was a bright, boiling pink. _Stay still, now, _she said, and reached down, splashing handfuls of the cool water over his skin.

_There is tea tree salve in my pack; that will bring down the swelling. _Arya splashed across to the bank where her dusty pack lay, and extracted the little round jar. Thanking Niduen silently once more for such foresight, Arya rubbed it into the cracks around his scales, making sure it went deep into his flesh and the surrounding area. _And we can put a piece of cloth between you and the saddle before we go. I wish I could do more._

_That is more than enough. It is only a little pain. _

Arya raised her eyebrows; she knew perfectly well it was far more than just a bit of pain, but did not argue with him. _I am hungry now, _she said, ducking once more beneath the water that seemed to wonderful.

_Good. _Eridor said rather severely; he had been quite bothered by the fact that she had had no appetite, and had eaten nothing all day since very early morning: Eridor was a firm believer in eating your fill at frequent intervals. _Come and dry off in the sun. _

Arya obediently splashed out of the pond, the water gushing from her shirt. She trailed after Eridor as he backed out of the water, and then sat against one of the stunted aspens, this time quite happy to have the sun on her face.

It dried her very quickly, and soon she had to crawl into Eridor's shade, where he was leaning his large head on her pack and the saddle. _Food, _he said insistently. _But you will have to eat quickly._

_I will. _Arya took a small loaf from the pack and ate it far quicker than she would have liked: there was, after all, no time for lagging behind. It was not at all stale, as it was made in the elven fashion, but Arya was as thirsty as ever in the heat, and when she had finished had to fill her water-skin again.

_There, _she said after a long silence, in which Eridor had dozed and she had devoured the bread. _Finished. How are your shoulders?_

_Much better. I do not know what is in your cousin__'__s salves, but they are very potent. I can bear to wear the saddle for another time now. _

Arya sighed, getting up, but delaying lifting the heavy saddle. _I wish you didn__'__t have to wear it. _

_Well, I have to, and well you know it, or you would be raw as a skinned fish._

_I think I would be willing to risk it, _Arya said stubbornly. _I would, were it not for the fact that I need the straps to stay on. _

_That you do, _Eridor said, nodding his large head. _And we need you unhurt when we get to Tronjheim. _

The name of the city sent a chill of sudden alarm through Arya: for the last half-hour she had forgotten, almost, about what waited for them when they arrived at their destination, and what grim scenes would present themselves. She glanced at Eridor, and he stared back for a slow moment, and then suddenly they were both up, preparing faster than ever before to take off.

And as they did so - Arya this time closing her eyes tight, even behind her odd headdress, so that the sand would get in her eyes and newly clean hair - Arya's thoughts turned abruptly to that old, battered scroll, in which Palancar's death had been so vividly detailed. It was one thing to read about it in an ancient chronicle; it was quite another to know that some one you were acquainted with was dying of the same thing.

Such an awful death, and painful, too: it made the blood mutate, the frame of the body writhe! What kind of a country had King Palancar come from where they used such poisons? Even in the Healing Houses of Ellesmera, learned and wise and ancient as they were, had no such awful things. It was something only Galbatorix would sink to … Galbatorix, that is, and the ill-fated Palancar's son.

Never mind that the humans had eventually been allowed to join the Riders: only, Arya thought, the human monarchs would ever think of poisoning their father in order to secure their hereditary riches. No matter how long Arya had lived among the mortals, she had never quite understood them.

_I suppose, _Eridor said suddenly, surprising Arya as she stared down at the slowly-changing plain, which was even now becoming rockier and rockier, small trees flashing into sight every now and again. _I suppose that now I shall meet a lot of mortals, all at once. _

_Yes, you shall, _Arya laughed, allow him to draw her out of her melancholy mood. _Though dwarves, of course __…__ all of the Varden is in Surda. _

_I am glad, _Eridor said, and he rolled his shoulders in apparent delight, for which Arya was glad: it meant that the raw skin had indeed been healed by her salve.

_Before long you will be seeing far more of them than you might want. We will be surrounded by grumpy, bearded dwarves. _

_I look forward to it, _Eridor replied haughtily. _Eragon would not be pleased to hear you talking in such a way about his kindred. _

_Eragon knows better than to try it talk to me about my views on dwarves, _Arya said tartly, but not altogether seriously. _And you may not, either._

_We shall see about that, _said Eridor in a teasing manner; _We can tell him all about it when we return._

_Yes, _Arya said, gloom returning. She did not fool herself about what might happen: they might be too late to save Hvedra, and would return defeated and miserable to Ellesmera and Eragon and Saphira, both who would be worried and angry.

_Why angry? _Eridor asked, and Arya could not tell if he knew or was waiting for her to put into words, so as to make her speak her mind, as he often did.

_Angry because Orik__'__s wife may have died, Eridor; and angry because __…__ we did not leave them a message, or any word at all of what we were doing. We could upset all their plans._

_We decided we would do this; and we knew the consequences. Eragon will respect that; and if he does not, then he will risk offending me; he will not want to do that, either. _

_No, he will not, _Arya said, smiling now, and feeling, if only marginally, better.

**OoOoO**

They had left the sand far behind. Now at every turn Eridor had to navigate steep mountain passes and protruding spurs of rock; the Beors were no longer a distant range on the horizon, but all that Arya and Eridor could see, barring the cloudy sky.

Eridor was tired, but he was wiser, now, in how to conserve his energy, and he flew at a steady pace; Arya could feel through their link that the healing properties of the tea tree salve had worn off; a sharp, truly painful jab constantly throbbed at Eridor's withers. Arya could only suffer along with him; they had agreed without words to simply keep going, on and on, until they reached the lake of Kostha Merna.

And with every beat, punctured with pain as they were, Arya could feel them getting closer; she saw the many steep, stony lakes and gorges, the icy water and cold springs that were so characteristic of the Beor Mountains, and wished only that they were gone, that they were already at Tronjheim, and that Hvedra was well.

Occasionally they heard the howls of the huge wolves that lived in the mountain-caves; other times eagles cried, shouting their anger at Eridor daring to come near them. It was lonely, and the scenery was harsh; yet never had Arya noticed it less.

Eridor rounded an outcropping of rock, avoiding its sharp points, and Arya was listening idly to a buzzard hurling rudeness at Eridor, when very suddenly it was cut off. Eridor did not break the rhythm of his wing beats, but Arya froze, listening for any more signs of danger.

There was silence. Very carefully she reached out her mind searching for hostile presences. And when she did find a reasonably intelligent mind, she did not need to break its defences to know what it was: with a muffled cry of alarm, she cried out to Eridor, or he would fly straight into it:

_Fanghur, Eridor! Turn around, go back! _

She was not sure if he knew what she meant, but he wheeled away, looping back over himself and hurtling back the way they had come. He accelerated, and all was a blur; they rushed past gorge and valley after valley, Eridor having quickly chosen a new course to the city.

And just as they passed a third gorge, and Arya thought that they had tricked the Fanghur, there came a scream, so soul-shattering that she hid her head in her hands. It was not that of a animal, nor of a person: it was a scream designed to crush the mind of the caller's prey; it was designed to bring all living creatures to their knees.

_They__'__re back! They found our scent! _

Arya turned and watched, even as Eridor went yet quicker, as first one, then another, and another muddy-brown, black-eyed Fanghur came into view, all straining to go as fast Eridor was: they were intent on eating well that night, Arya saw, and she lifted her hand, the words springing to her lips as easily as if someone had told her them.

"Letta cortva ono blaka!"

The middle one squawked in surprise and spun away, twisting in the air as it cried in panic: Arya had changed the current of the wind beneath its wings, and it had been unable to stabilise itself.

The other two dived down to it, and Arya thought that it would scare them away: but they apparently decided their fallen comrade was not worth it. The remaining two climbed back up, a deadly glint in their black eyes.

_Which way is the city?! _Eridor cried, frantically ducking away from an overhanging cliff.

_Here! _Arya filled his mind with images of the path to Tronjheim, showing him a new path. The other Fanghur were gaining a little as Eridor slowed to check the valleys. He chose a south-facing valley and sped up again. For a moment the creatures were lost behind the corner; but they soon reappeared and Arya prepared to use magic again.

"Skolir edravarya fraur blaka!"

Both beasts wailed, and stopped in the relentless pursuit, flying in awkward, clumsy circles: Arya had blinded them, though only momentarily: she had taken away their light. But when she looked forward, she saw with a great start of relief, that the crystal-clear lake of Kostha-merna lay before them.

_Land, Eridor! I blinded them, for the moment. _

He did, folding his wings and narrowing his eyes, partly concentrating, partly in pain: blood rolled down his sides in crimson rivulets; the tea tree salve had worn away, and now he bled. When he landed, it splashed to the ground in thick droplets.

Arya vaulted off him, and drew her sword, even as the sun sank below the horizon, plunging the stony vale into twilight. And the Fanghur shrieked in triumph: they had regained their sight, and had seen Arya and Eridor.

_Run! _Eridor roared, and Arya caught hold of one the spikes on his neck, and together they ran along the rocky, slippery edges of the lake, knowing that at nay moment one of their pursuers would dive for them.

The Fanghur wheeled closer and closer overhead, and Arya and Eridor pressed on around the massive shores of the lake, stumbling occasionally where their tired feet struck spars of rock, or slipped on mossy surfaces. The Fanghur kept calling out, so often that it seemed as if the stones themselves must be split into pieces by the unbearable noise; Arya screwed up her face, Eridor tossed his head and they continued doggedly on.

They came to the waterfall. Its spray hit their faces, and roared, pounding on the rocks and soaking them, hard bits of yellow foam being spat into air by the force of the water.

It only added to the commotion, heightened the fear in Arya and Eridor's breasts; Arya could feel the slimy presence of the beasts' minds coming closer, and turned, heart beating so fast that she could hear it over the pounding of the cascade.

She only had a moment, a glimpse of what was happening in the sky; the darkening sky was obscured by the filthy, stinking belly of the Fanghur bearing down upon her, its dirty, blood-blackened claws reaching out to catch her, and Arya barely had a second to react: she swung her sword upwards, braced her arms; and when it came so close that she see the fleas that lived in its muddy scales, she held it straight aloft.

And the elven steel bit true, scoring deep beneath the mite-ridden flesh, ripping through the scales, and grating across the hamstrings.

It squealed, a shriek of pain and anger that echoed through her brain and made her knees buckle and the mountains resound with its terrible noise. It was too much for her senses to bear, and Arya dropped, falling to the mossy, wet stone, desperately trying to pull her strength together. But in a matter of seconds, she felt the second one approach, covered as she was in the first one's clotting blood -

And she thought that now they _would _fail, dying when they were so close, falling when they were needed most: and all because of her weakness. And she had failed Eridor, and she knew that all their hopes were dying now, as the second filthy creature swooped down upon her … she could smell its rotting, fetid breath -

But it never dived for her, she never felt its claws close about her body: away it flew as she felt it go with her mind, croaking in agony, as if crippled. Eridor had roared, such as he had never done before, roared with all the anger he felt at their trap, put into voice the pain of his suffering, and of hers.

The dumb, wilful creature had not been able to withstand the wrath of a dragon, the power of the ages that surrounded Eridor. It had been made to catch other, smaller hunters of sky and eat other dumb animals. Eridor was a new thing entirely; and he was angry, and he was not worthy of such a low competitor.

Perhaps it was the true love in this noise, or the sheer force of which he made it: but the horrible thing wailed, hurting as it had ever done before, crying its agony to it wounded fellow, and flew away, trailing weak limbs and tattered mind.

And before the wounded Fanghur could decided what to do, Eridor picked Arya up, gentle as a mother cat, and lifted her up. He barrelled his way through the waterfall, and he staggered under the weight of the water. Arya, released from his grasp, crawled forward, gasping, spitting water and moss from her mouth: she tried to stand to go back to Eridor and help him, but her legs were so weak she could not stand. Her muscles trembled.

Eridor spluttered, the water of Kostha Merna falling into his gaping mouth. He clenched his muscles, and, with one last, powerful effort, pulled himself forwards over the rocky ground, and then collapsed, trembling and wet, on the floor.

_**-**_

Arya and Eridor lay gasping, fighting the red veil that was starting to creep down their vision; she was cold to the very marrow of her bines, and Eridor bled; it trickled down into the little crevices on the rocky floor, and on Arya the blood of the Fanghur stank.

For long minute they could not move, and did not try. Lights flashed before Arya's eyes; she closed her eyes, but still the world seemed to spin. It seemed a long, long time before she could sit up and look about; and even then her head span.

_We have to get in __…__ where is the rock - the stone for asking entry? _She knew her words were stupid and clumsy, but could not form them any other way.

_I am bleeding ... It caught my tail. _Eridor did not seem to be listening: Arya felt a ball of choking emotions rising in her throat, frustration that Eridor was so hurt and she could not help; anger that the dwarves would not just let them in and help them.

_Don__'__t worry, Eridor! _she spat, to keep herself from weeping angry tears, such as se had not done for years. _Only wait a minute and these _infernal_ dwarves will let us in - I need the stone __…__ you will be healed __…_

She saw it, sitting in its little alcove of stone, a smooth, round, unremarkable rock. She stumbled over to it on shaking knees, and banged against, gaining strength the longer she stood.

"Ai Varden abr du Shurtugals gata vanta!"

Nothing happened. _They think we are enemies, _Eridor said, panting. Arya gritted her teeth, gathering her strength.

"I am a Rider and friend!" she called again, putting all her emotion into making her voice carry. "I am Arya Drottningu, ambassador to the elves and egg-courier! I have the Shining Palm, and the dragon bonded to me is hatched from the egg retrieved earlier this year from the Imperial camp at Gil'ead by Eragon Shadeslayer and Saphira Brightscales. We have come to answer the summons King Orik sent the elven ruler!"

There was a long, poignant pause, in which Eridor's laboured breathing seemed magnified; Arya waited expectantly. And slowly, at long last, the gates of Tronjheim swung open on noiseless hinges, ready to admit inside a new Rider and dragon.

**OoOoO**

I know ... loong ... I tried but couldn't edit anything, becaues I couldn't rember all of it! The computer deleted a fair amount, too, lol.

It's snowing. There aren't any exclamation marks, because it didn't stick around past nine! First snow of the year, and it turns into hail while I'm riding poor old Boston. And it's so ruddy cold! I'm tried of freezing while I try to write!

Please tell me what you think! :)


	47. Arrivals and Departures

OK, don't eat me! I've got it up in 7 days - see?! On the other hand, it hasn't been possible to reply to any reviews, and some I haven't even read up till now - but we still don't have internet. I'm still on the Partial Business Computer.

There will be many tiny mistakes in this, everywhere - wrong spacing and no apostrophes, but F. is doing something funny to my document when it's uploaded, and it takes forever to put right. In fact, I can't without pulling my hair out, and I do like my hair, so just excuse the typo's?

Chapter Forty-Seven.

Arrival and Departure.

"Fifteen silver marks."

"Ten."

"But sir!" The trader lifted a swathe of the leather he was trying to sell, and held it up before Eragon's scathing eyes. "Finest ox-hide leather! Softened in my own vats, cured by the most skilled hands on Alagaesia. And you ask ten measly silver marks!"

Eragon raised an eyebrow. He very much wondered how this tradesman, dark, greasy and unremarkable, dared to insult him, the most prominent person in the newly-captured elven province of Ceunon: he was very brazen.

"For fifteen marks I could buy my own cow and cure it! Ten silver marks, I tell you."

"But the kindly Lord will cheat me of my very good products, such a miserly price! Such quality, such smooth, creamy texture …" The man ran his dirty hand along the leather with a sly glance at Eragon.

"Quality! I know as well as you do that this was probably traded for in a filthy black-market in Dras Leona."

The man's tongue darted from his mouth, startlingly pink against his dirty face. He looked distinctly like a person who knew he was cornered.

"Twelve silver marks," Eragon said, because he could see it was good skin, wherever it came from; "and that is my final offer. Doubtless there are other merchants in this considerable estate who would be glad to give me give me leather and at reasonable prices." He watched the trader, and wondered if he would try to barter again. "Quick, man."

"Not an elf!" The trader burst out. "The Fair Ones leave us poor men alone." He gave Eragon a scowling, dark look. "But you, you barging about and cheating me out of my good stock. I've a wife and five children in my little tent over there, and how will I feed them if I don't get paid proper prices?"

"You haven't got any children, and the Gods help any wife you might ever have," Eragon said, purposely jingling the silver in his pockets. "But now, I take my business elsewhere, unless you have a sensible offer …?" He started to turn and go, but the trader said quickly: "Thirteen silver marks."

Eragon stared at him, and he amended, looking mutinous, "Twelve, then. But take them quick, and get you gone!"

"Nothing would give me greater pleasure."

The trader started about packaging the hides in a cloth bag, and Eragon waited a little impatiently, watching him sharply in case he tried to snatch back some of the material. The little, muddy marketplace in the centre of Ceunon, the town seized by the elves, was almost deserted, and only a few stalls stood around, while the coarsely-dressed inhabitants of the town - from long before the elves had arrived - wandered about, guarding their precious coin closely.

After paying and receiving his goods, Eragon left promptly for the outskirts, beyond the wall the elves had constructed in defence of the town. Although the recent rains had made the narrow streets muddy, it was obvious that some unusual people lived in Ceunon: here, a flowering vine trailed across a roof; there, a wooden basket of bright, exotic flowers.

The elven warriors did not really come out to mix with the people of the town, though Eragon had made sure that the mortals were treated well. There had, in fact, been no need. They were treated better than most civilians in a conquered town, and the elves were generous with the seeds they had brought from Du Weldenvarden: already Ceunon was starting, in Eragon's eyes, to look more prosperous than many an Empire-controlled city.

Still, all the humans were a slightly shocked people at the moment, and Eragon did not try to converse with them; and they did not approach him. It was a reminder that however much he and Saphira did for them, he was no longer a member of their race.

This stung him, more than a little, though he tried not to mind: he, after all, remembered what it was like to be cold all day from the moment you got up to the minute you went to bed; he remembered how it was to wear clothes and shoes until they were rags to save money; he remembered how there was never enough food and how you would be permanently hungry. Until two short years ago, that had been Eragon's life.

_Have you got them?_ said Saphira from where she waited in a secluded corner of a dry brook for him to return, and jolting him out o his sober thoughts.

_Yes, _Eragon replied with satisfaction. _And it did not cost me all my bag of coins, either. _

_What, all thirty of them? _Saphira replied somewhat waspishly; she had been very grumpy throughout the three days they had been in Ceunon, and only in the evening did she deign to talk to Eragon in a normal manner.

_Quite, _Eragon replied, in a voice that told her he was not going to argue. _Are you ready to go, then?_

_Of course I am not; how can I secure the buckles on the saddle without you, pray tell?_

_Have you eaten? _Eragon asked, feeling increasingly beleaguered. _Are you all right to go back very soon?_

_I did manage to find something that _wasn't_ farmers__'__ livestock, _she said, sounding far too bitter for such a small thing. _A nest of rabbits, actually. _

Eragon grunted, not particularly wishing to know their fate. He and Saphira were tired, for all yesterday they had negotiated with the elves, asking for a good, strong force to march out to Teirm, to help Roran capture Teirm. He was sure that his cousin would not be bale to do it with only his small force, and even five elven warriors would make a difference to the largest campaign.

And finally the elves in charge had agreed, for it was undeniable that Roran was of royal blood, that he was allied with Nasuada, and had the Varden's best interests at heart; besides, Roran was, after all, Eragon own flesh and blood.

So, very early that morning, twenty-nine elven warriors had set out, ready for marching, towards the city. Eragon had watched them go, and following them had gone fifty broad-chested, fierce Urgals, the small force that had attacked Ceunon and that Eragon and Saphira had enticed onto the side of the Varden, with promises of reward and by reminding them what Galbatorix - through Durza - had done to their tribe. That had won them over; but Eragon felt guilty, for in his heart he felt that he had tricked them, though in the best cause possible.

_You__'__re going the wrong way, _said Saphira. Eragon blinked, and found that he had indeed wandered too far from her little glen. _I didn__'__t know that Urgals were such interesting things to daydream about. _

_Not the Urgals. It feels odd to be so close to the Empire again __…__ that__'__s all. _

_We__'__re not so close to the Empire. The Varden have Dras Leona and the other towns. The elves and the Urgals will be safe until they reach Teirm. _

_I know that. _Eragon resigned himself to Saphira's prickly company - which was still more desirable to him than anyone else's, despite her funny mood - and entered the glen she was waiting in. He eyed her warily, seeing that she was as uncommunicative and fierce as ever.

_Let me roll these up and put them in saddle-bags, and I will do the saddle._

_Fine. But hurry. _

Eragon undid the saddle-bags and stowed his purchase inside, and, tying it back up asked, _Why in such a hurry to get back to Ellesmera?_

_The same reason you are, _Saphira said in an evasive way. _To see Arya and Eridor._

_Ah. _Eragon fell silent, and did not speak as he fitted Saphira's saddle. He knew that Arya and Eridor were safe in Ellesmera, and he missed them; he missed Eridor's quick, wise speech and his questions, decidedly odd as they sometimes were; and he missed Arya, and consequently tried not to think of her: it felt like a betrayal to miss her so much when she did not want him to, and when she would not miss him as he did her.

So eager was Saphira to get back, that he had risen as early as her, said farewell to the elves, and gathered his armour together, redoing his pack and bundling up a few jars of food he had begged from the elves; and he had been ready before the sun had reached noon, but for the leather, which he had not had a chance to see to before.

Still, they were ready now. Eragon was quite prepared to listen to Saphira's snappiness, not only because he wanted to know why she was so, but because he was as eager to see Arya and Eridor again as she was.

_Ready, then? _he asked, climbing into the saddle nimbly, tying the straps deftly and easily.

_Yes, at last. _Saphira jumped into the air as soon as she said it; as she left the glade, the trees rippled in the wind from her enormous wings. And she flew so quickly with such sudden energy, that very soon Ceunon was a small, black circle on the ground, and Du Weldenvarden was already visible as a blue mist in the distance.

Eragon easily got his balance, and sat quite comfortable on her back. But Saphira flew on, faster and faster, spurred on by some unknown feeling. And try as he might, Eragon could not quite determine it. Anger, it was not; bitterness at leaving Ceunon behind it certainly was not. Yet it upset her greatly; Eragon tried to understand, but she would not confide in him and her mind was not filled with any telling thoughts.

He would have let it go, waited for her to talk to him; but when, with a sudden and heedless burst of speed, she dived through a thick cloud and soaked Eragon in cold water, he said, _Saphira what is wrong? You cannot pretend you did not see that cloud._

_Of course I saw it; I am not a bat._

_No, bats are more communicative! _Eragon exclaimed, shaking his sopping head and starting to wring his clothes out. _What is wrong with you, Saphira, truly? I cannot understand the feelings in your mind. _

Saphira did speak for a moment; then she said, in a detached way, _I got you wet going through that cloud, didn__'__t I? I apologise; it did not occur to me. _

_What has happened, Saphira? _Eragon asked stubbornly, ignoring this emotionless apology. _What has happened that you know about and I do not?_

_Nothing has happened, _Saphira replied, slowly and deliberately, but Eragon knew her well enough to tell that she was holding something back. They were speaking in the Ancient Language, and so she could not lie; but in true elven fashion, Saphira was only stating part of the truth. _Nothing._

_Then why such a raging hurry to get back to Ellesmera? Do you think __…__think that Arya and Eridor will have flown off to UruBaen, or some such thing?_

_Don__'__t joke, _Saphira said sharply. _Don__'__t. _

Eragon leant forward, trying to catch her eye, more than a little worried. _What __**is **__wrong, Saphira? _

_I had a dream night before last._

Eragon blinked, surprised. Saphira was not given to overly-vivid dreams, or particularly serious ones, and rarely exceeded the odd exciting hunt of a Feldunost. _Why such bother over a dream?_

_Not just any dream, _Saphira snapped. _It was more like __…__ one of your premonitions._

A cold hand seemed to grip Eragon's heart; he had had enough premonitions. He would never forget in a hurry the image of Murtagh on the Burning Plains; and that had come true, and in a most ugly fashion._ What was it like? _he asked, unwilling to hear the answer.

_I saw Eridor flying in the dark, but the moon was bright. It shone on his scales. _Saphira paused, and Eragon frowned; why was this so terrible? Eridor flying was hardly unusual. _It shone on his scales __…__ and he wore a saddle - _

_What! _Eragon cried incredulously. Saphira poked his mind sharply to make him silent.

_He wore a saddle __…__and Arya sat in it. She was crouched low to his withers, and there was ice frosted along all the lines of her clothes, and Eridor was exhausted. I could feel his pain, and Arya__'__s numb limbs. It was very vivid._

_But it cannot be true, _Eragon said, clenching his hands, worried and somewhat frightened. _Arya cannot fly, and Eridor has no saddle!_

_That is the thing, _Saphira said morosely, though she sounded the better for telling him. _It is impossible __…__ yet I felt it so real. I felt as if I was there._

_How is it that I didn__'__t see it, too? _

_I don__'__t know. _Saphira hesitated. _But you see, we are ignoring reason, and what would Arya say to that? Eridor has no saddle. Arya has never flown on her own, and I strongly feel that she is not able to secure the tack on a dragon securely. There is no reason for them to go anywhere; and they are hardly the frivolous type. _

_True, _Eragon replied, very marginally cheered. _Still, after spending so much time with Angela, we have learnt not to dismiss the impossible, haven__'__t we?_

_I suppose you could say that, _Saphira agreed, for she had spent even more time than Eragon with Solembum, for good friends they were. _But this is not only impossible, it is improbable. For absolutely no reason would Eridor and Arya go gallivanting off through Alagaesia. _Saphira said this quite firmly, to tell Eragon that she believed her words.

_Where were they? _he asked, disregarding this.

_I don__'__t know! Somewhere flat __…__which excludes most of Alagaesia._

_Ah. _He relaxed a little, and pulled his sopping shirt off over his head, muscles clenched against the cold, and quickly fished out another one from his pack. _It was a dream, then._

_Aye_. Saphira sighed, a puff of smoke blowing back onto Eragon over her back. _Just a dream._

**OoOoO**

The sun was starting to fall when Saphira entered the boundaries of Ellesmera, and she and Eragon were fatigued, if not wholly exhausted. Very quickly Eragon showed his palm to Gilderien the Wise, and Saphira followed a good track into the silent city.

It was very silent; strangely so. Though most of the elves had gone to war, there was always one or another to be found roundabouts; and not only that, but Niduen and the few remaining Lords and Ladies of Court were never far away from Tialdari Hall. With a puzzled look around, Eragon unstrapped his legs and jumped off Saphira, landing quietly on the soft ground.

_Where have they gone? _Saphira asked, sounding irritated. _Always plenty of elves around, and when you want them, all gone._

Eragon frowned a little, as surprised as she was. _Let__'__s go and take the saddle and bags off, and then we can go and find Arya and Eridor, all right?_

_Yes, fine, _Saphira said impatiently, and she started walking off without him, lifting her head and turning this way and that like a nervous filly. Eragon sighed, still unsure why she was so unhappy, and followed her, eyes on the ground. So when she stopped dead in the track, he didn't notice until he walked headfirst into her.

_What are you doing?! _Eragon cried, righting himself and peering curiously at her around her broad back.

Her nostrils were flared as she sniffed the air, and Eragon could see the alarm in all her tense limbs._ My dream was true. There is no dragon in this forest._

Eragon felt his heart beat quicker. _Are you sure?_

_His scent is here, but it is days old; and I cannot feel his presence anywhere, though I always could, whether we were one or ten miles apart. - Yes, I am sure._

Eragon took a deep breath, suppressing the fear that threatened to break through, for he was not fool enough to doubt a dragon's instincts, especially Saphira's. _Where are they, then?! And why are they gone?! _

_I don__'__t know. _Eragon could feel her panic, though she pressed it down as valiantly as he did. _I knew that my dream was more than just a fantasy._

_We have to check. _Eragon looked about, getting his bearings on their position. _Niduen__'__s house is there, and Arya is staying with her. We can ask her, or something - _

"Eragon - Silver Hand!"

Eragon turned quickly, fear heightening his senses so that he jumped at the slightest noise, to see Niduen herself hurrying towards them, dress rippling over the pine-needle floor. Her dark hair was flying in the breeze, but Eragon could see, even from a distance, the various emotions that flitted over her normally so calm face.

"Niduen! Where -"

"Where are Arya and Eridor?" Niduen asked, stopping as Eragon said this, and clasping her pale hands in front of her. Her smooth face looked troubled. "I told the Court that I would talk to you and Saphira, and I would have met you when you arrived, but you arrived earlier than we had expected."

"We were eager to be back," Eragon said hurriedly, trying to tell, from Niduen's pretty face, what had happened to Eridor and Arya, and if it was bad. "But Saphira says that they are not here. She cannot feel Eridor's presence."

Niduen turned wide, respectful eyes on Saphira, who stared back sternly. "Ever more wonderful are the instincts of the dragons." She pressed her two fingers to her lips. Eragon shifted his weight onto the other foot, impatient with these trivialities.

"Well, Lady Niduen? Is Saphira right?"

A quick, sad smile flitted across Niduen's lips. "It is impossible to fool one so insightful … though I have not been trying. Yes, my cousin and Eridor are not in Ellesmera. They have to Tronjheim."

_Tronjheim! _Saphira exclaimed, eyes widening in shock and horror. _But it__'__s too dangerous! Wolves and Nagra and Fanghur __…__! What possessed them to do that?_

Eragon repeated her words, and Niduen looked down for a moment, then returned Eragon's gaze. "There was a letter from the King Orik of the dwarves. His wife has been poisoned, and then did not know how to cure. They sent to us in the hope that we would know."

Eragon grabbed Saphira's neck, horrified and unable to speak for fear of what he might say. "How …? Why …?" he managed, and his voice was strangled. Niduen looked at him with something akin to sympathy.

"They were not sure who had done it, and only by a very lucky chance did Arya discover what poison they had used, and I procured the antidote from the Master Healer."

Had it not been for Niduen, Eragon would sworn, but he bit his tongue, for he had only ever heard one elf swear and that was Arya. "Curse them! We did not think of that, and we should have done. Orik will be devastated. Is it curable?" he asked Niduen suddenly. She blinked at him.

"To a certain extent. The antidote is quick-acting … it will work … as long as Arya and Eridor arrive there in time to administer it …"

"Yes, and they are going through the most dangerous part of Alagaesia! _And _the Hardarac Desert!" Eragon turned back to Saphira, looking to see if she agreed to what he was thinking. Niduen stared.

"I could not stop her, Eragon. If I had …"

"No, it does not matter." Eragon smiled at Niduen, who looked surprised. "Arya did what was right, and what had to be done. I only wish it was not so dangerous."

Niduen looked a little relieved at this answer; perhaps she had been expecting anger and accusations. "As do I. It was against my better judgement that I let them go."

"I doubt you could have stopped them," Eragon said with a wry smile. "But how did they go?" he asked, a sudden thought striking him. "Eridor had no saddle, and it is almost impossible to ride a dragon without one …"

"Arya and Eridor were in your house when I took them the message … there was a saddle not in use there, and Arya decided it would be fit to use."

_But it doesn__'__t fit him! It will be terribly painful, almost worse than being without one! _Saphira exclaimed, alarmed. _Foolish Eridor, how many times have I explained how dangerous an ill-fitting saddle can be? _

_It was necessary, _Eragon said quietly to her; he rather felt that her anger was more than it seemed. _For Arya__'__s part, I do not thinks she fully understands how a saddle such as that works. I hope they were careful._"Do you know what route they planned to take?" he asked Niduen.

"Oh, yes." A strange, almost exultant expression came onto Niduen's face. "Yes, my father gave her his best map, and they planned easily their path." Eragon raised an eyebrow, surprised; it seemed an uncharacteristically forgiving thing for Arya to accept her estranged uncle's help. "They went straight South-West from here to the Hardarac Desert, and from there to the mountain of Tronjheim."

_It is sensible, _Saphira said somewhat grudgingly. _Oh, but how I curse those Urgals! What possessed them to come to Ceunon at the moment that Orik__'__s message came? A week they could have waited, at least._

_They might be saving Roran and his men__'__s lives, _Eragon reminded her, though he was inclined to agree. Niduen glanced sharply at both of them.

"I take it by your punctual arrival that all went well at Ceunon? Do we still retain our outpost?"

"Yes, certainly," Eragon replied; Ceunon was far from his thoughts at that moment. "It was a small force of Urgals and they were merely looking for someone to ally with - I persuaded them to fight for us, in the Varden's name - they have gone to Teirm along with a fair force of elves -"

"Elves?" Niduen repeated, folding her arms. "You mean from Ceunon? But why? Teirm is a fully protected fortress, it would take an army to take it - you said so yourself, Silver Hand. Why send out troops into danger?"

Eragon suppressed a quick, sharp answer: it was not impertinence but duty that made Niduen ask these questions. "My cousin also faces mortal danger, and -"

Once again he was cut off, though, of course, in the politest possible manner. "Your cousin? That is the one who wrote to us here, before you and Saphira left. Why is he at Teirm?"

"Because we need Teirm - desperately, in fact - if we are to get a proper hold on the Empire before we attack Uru'Baen," Eragon said patiently as he could. Niduen shook her head slightly, and lifted her cloth-clad arm to gesture in the direction of Tialdari Hall.

"It is not for me to ask these questions, and I am the least qualified to hear the answers. The Advisors and the Court are waiting in the Throne Room. If I may ask Lord Shadeslayer and Saphira Bright-Scales to come as well …"

"Come where?"

"To the Throne Room." Niduen eyed him oddly. "To explain our position to the Court - afterwards, you will, of course, be allowed your well-deserved rest."

"We haven't got time for that!" Saphira snorted agreement. Niduen raised her finely-drawn eyebrows.

"If you are that tired, then I suppose a full report can wait until tomorrow, if that is your wish."

"I will give you a report when we return," Eragon said steadily, checking Saphira's girth and adjusting the length of her martingale to a position more comfortable for long-distance. "But if it is very pressing, Lieutenant Califa will no doubt despatch a messenger with a full reading of the situation at Ceunon."

"But where are _you_ going?!"

"Well," Eragon looked genuinely surprised, and stared at Niduen as if she were a very odd person indeed. "Well, we are going to Tronjheim, after Arya and Eridor."

"Oh, no, you _can__'__t_!" Niduen seemed frozen with horror. "Not you both as well! I let Arya, but you and Saphira _have _to stay here!"

"No, we don't," Eragon said firmly. "We have to make they're all right, and help them if they're not." He looked at her curiously. "Why so concerned?"

"Because if you go, the last protection we have against Galbatorix has left safety, again! Arya and Eridor was bad enough, but that was to save a life. You and Saphira can easily wait here until they get back."

"No. We are going."

Niduen stared. "You are being irrational. One rash action does not deserve another. You must stay safe!"

"You don't understand." The muscles in Eragon bunched and coiled as he clenched his jaw. "There are things in the Beors that prey especially on dragons - that have done since the dawn time. And the Desert is no better - beetles that paralyse the body, scorpions that poison the blood - I do not know how aware of these things Arya is, and when she went it was the first time she had ridden a dragon! Saphira and I may have a survived a flight like that when she was young, but there is no guarantee that Arya and Eridor will."

"There is no reason why they should not," Niduen said in a level voice. "Arya is not a child, and Eridor not foolish. She told me herself that her training could not have been more conclusive."

"It could have been," Eragon frowned, "if she had had help in learning to fly him!"

"But what good will it do," Niduen said, returning to ground she wads familiar with, "if you disappear and get hurt, when Arya and Eridor could be perfectly well?"

"There is nothing but the Red Rider and Galbatorix himself who can challenge Saphira and I and hope to win." Eragon's face radiated cold pride. "Do you think we learnt from Brom of Kuasta himself and Oromis-elda to be beaten by the Beor Mountains?" He snorted, and Niduen remained silent; the conversation was once more passing away beyond her comprehension. "We passed through the Hardarac desert and came out alive; we have fought the Fanghur and survived; we thwarted Durza, and do you think we will not go after those that are most important to us when they are in danger?"

Niduen lifted her head and met his gaze clearly, but Eragon had already leapt away, and now he was fastening straps, clipping saddlebags and belting his bright blue sword on again. "Will you not stop to consider this?"

"Saphira and I have learnt to think while we work," he replied, and Niduen sighed a little, finding him to be almost as stubborn as Arya.

"You do not have to; we do not expect you to."

"Yes, we do. And we could not live with ourselves if we did not." Eragon paused here, and glanced down at Niduen; and finally their eyes met. And in that one moment a flash of some strange feeling passed over Niduen's face, and she stared at Eragon in a way he did not understand.

"You love her."

A flash of blue light crackled in Eragon's palm. "What are you talking about?" Even to his won ears, his voice sounded hollow.

"This is why! Oh, it explains all." Niduen gave Eragon a distinctly superior. "And you both so stubborn that I had not even noticed."

"Please talk sensibly, my Lady," Eragon said curtly, clenching his fist, and wondering if Niduen was playing the type of game that Surdan ladies did with the men-folk.

"Are you mates now?"

"What?!" Eragon yelped. "No! Niduen, no!"

"But you love her."

"I did not say that." The Ancient Language started to choke him, for he was very close to lying.

"You did not have to. I have seen you together, and now I understand."

"You do not. Arya and I are friends, and that is all. I did not realise the gossip network of Ellesmera was so advanced."

A small, knowing smile lurked at the corners of Niduen's mouth. "You have spent too long in company of coarse old warriors. You have forgotten how strong is a woman's instinct."

Eragon snorted quietly. "Be that as it may, it does not give you the right to say such things about Arya and I, who is your cousin and kinswoman."

"Yes, she is my kinswoman … that is why I wish to see her happy."

Eragon gave Niduen a serious look, despite that he felt distinctly hot. "As do I, Niduen. Very much so, and I have done much to that end."

"But," Niduen said in a very polite way, "you are not mates."

"No. Why would that constitute her happiness, Niduen?" Eragon flushed, and Niduen also appeared a little embarrassed.

"I … Oh, it is not my place to ask such things. I drew my conclusions from what I observed between you and my cousin, and it seems I was wrong." A faint blush tinged her pale cheeks. "I assure you, I do not normally ask questions about other people's lives."

"I know that you do not." Niduen was a just, careful and polite being, and well Eragon knew it. "But we would do better not to talk about Arya when she is not here."

"True," Niduen replied, and she watched him with a peculiar expression as he unstrung his bow so it could be stored in the saddlebags. "Have you enough food and water?"

Eragon raised an eyebrow, but was glad she had dropped her previous line of inquiry. "So you will let us go without alerting the whole Court?"

"Yes, so help me, I will." Niduen made a quick, exasperated gesture with her fingers. "For the second time in three nights I will go against the laws of my country, of which I am ruling Advisor!"

Eragon was already standing on Saphira's shoulders, ready to climb into the saddle, but at Niduen's words he stopped, and sighed. "I am sorry, Niduen, for asking you to do that. It is a pity … if it is a very serious offence, we can wait, and talk to your Court."

Niduen's hand crept to her neck, where a silver neck-chain hung, and she grasped it, turning the pendant over and over, though it was the only sign she gave of indecision. "No," she said at last. "No, don't. I have myself rarely thought of anything but my cousin and Eridor in the past two days… and I will be glad to know they are safe, or at least that you are not far behind them. Just go, Eragon, and quickly."

"Thank-you," Eragon said earnestly, touching his two fingers to his lips in respect of her actions and just words. "Would you have me take a message to Arya?"

"Oh … Yes, please." Niduen firmly brought her hand back down to her side, and the neck-chain hung still. "Tell her, Eragon, that I hope she and Eridor are safe and well, and that she is missed here, not only by the people, but by me and my father. Tell her also that he looks forward to her return as much as I do."

"Very well." Eragon did not express his surprise at her words: Evadarr and Arya were not, so far as he and Saphira were aware, so very friendly that he would miss her when she was away. But Saphira was impatiently kneading the ground, and from her mind came a steady, hurrying beat, for she was eager to make sure Eridor and Arya were safe. "Then we take your leave, my Lady."

"Yes, go." Niduen pressed her two fingers to her lips and then twisted her hand over her sternum in farewell, then turned and hurried away, perhaps to make sure that no one else came to hinder their flight. Eragon secured the straps around his legs and arms; Saphira bunched her muscles and curled her legs: and as silently and abruptly as they had arrived they departed Ellesmera; and no one the city but Niduen Silvrena was any the wiser.

**OoOoO**

Do you like Silvrena? I decided it could be Niduen's mother's name or something .. Or a middle name … I can't remember if she's got one!

Anway, it's my littlest sister's birthday today, and although as usual I'll be working hard to get the chapter done, i've got English coursework and Maths to do, AND I have to try and memorise Biology, AND I've got work AND my sisters are driving me up the wall. Why can't kids stay little and quiet? Lol!

And, if David is reading this, who emails me, I haven't been able to email, with the internet down. I'm sorry! At least all this coursework means the computer will HAVE to be fixed!

My fingers are freezing off in this carvan, so I'm off .. got to chop carrots for dips this evening. It's all fun!


	48. Healers and Midwifes

Thank you so much, people who left those lovely reviews! I only read most of thme today - still no inernet. I hope this lives up to expectation :)

A/N: This is quite graphic - just a warning. If you don't like blood and that, best to just skim it in the middle, lol. Poor dwarves.

Chapter Forty-Eight.

Healers and Midwifes

The blackness was suffocating, but at least it was safe. Arya followed the small troop of dwarves, holding Eridor's neck to keep herself upright, and wished they could go faster. She dripped blood from various small wounds all over her battered, bruised body; but Eridor was far worse, and his tail was mangled cruelly by the fangs of the Fanghur. Blood and gristle fell from him when he moved, but Arya had no energy to heal him, and he had barely enough to keep walking towards the city.

And, by what Arya considered pure foolishness, the dwarves had not thought to have a Healer ready at the doors; thus, neither Arya nor Eridor would be healed until they reached the city itself. They were walking along a wide, pale-stoned road that wended its way through the outskirts of the massive crater and led straight to the main gates of the city, and it looked terribly long.

She stumbled, and her toe curled back on itself; Arya bit back a curse and continued doggedly on. Eridor breathed heavily, and winced at every movement, while Arya kept her gaze on the road; that way, perhaps, the distance would not seem so great.

After a fashion, it worked. Arya had fallen into a daze, where even her pain was numbed. She did not notice that they had arrived at the huge, golden gates of Tronjheim until the pounding of the mattocks upon the ground beat on her already sore ears.

She looked up in time to see the crier, who stood and announced who was coming, open his mouth. In one quick movement, finding the energy from somewhere, she leaped forward and covered his mouth, hissing so that all the dwarves close by her could hear:

"No one says a word about me and my dragon's arrival! Mention it to anyone, even your closest friend, and you will wish you had not. Do not think we will not know who has done so. Keep you mouths closed!"

The dwarves glared at her, but were suitably awed not to object; she released the crier, and, ignoring his coughs of surprise, turned to one of the gate-wardens.

"Get me a healer, and make haste. We are badly wounded." The warden looked to his chief, who gave a brief nod. The dwarf disappeared into the dark, silent city, and Arya sagged back against Eridor's side, holding her neck: there were gashes in it that she did not remember getting, but they hurt when she moved quickly.

Eridor was too full of agony to speak; Arya lay still, and closed her eyes, trying to even her breathing; soon, over the throbbing in her ears, she heard the panting breaths of a female dwarf. Arya opened her eyes, and saw coming towards her, holding a red were-light that bobbed on a pole, a woman garbed in black lace, and a veil covering her face. In that instant, Arya feared the worst.

"Is she dead?" she gasped out, knowing she sounded unstable but not caring; surely this woman was wearing mourning clothes for her dead queen.

"Is who dead, do you say, Lady?" the woman asked, alarm evident on her open, pink face. Arya tried to pull herself to her feet, but found that it was now impossible to get back up: silencing the crier had taken her last reserve of energy.

"Your Queen - does she live?"

"Kilf protect her - yes she lives still." The woman turned sharply on the warriors and let out a stream of the rough dwarves words. The leader gave her a reply with sounded like an affirmative, and woman looking down at her again.

"Eka friciai ai Varden ac Shurtugal?" she asked keenly. Arya managed to frown at her, annoyed at how she was answering questions to a minion of the king in a away that made her seem a subordinate.

"Greta wiol neu Shurtugal, ai pomnuria Carravior Varden! Yes, I am a friend of the Varden, and I have come to answer the summons Orik sent us to help his wife - I need to get to her, soon!"

The woman stared at her, a shrewd look on her broad features. Then she knelt down by Arya, taking herbs from a bag at her side. "I am the Healer. Where does it hurt?"

Pride stung, Arya tried to draw her legs in nearer to her chest. "Heal Eridor. Heal my dragon first."

"You need energy," the Healer said trying to force a bottle of something that smelt foul into Arya's mouth.

"No." Arya forced herself to turn away, and once again said, "Heal my dragon."

"But you are one and the same! You both need … need …" the Healer ground her teeth, trying to find the right word in the Common Tongue. "Need food!"

Arya closed her eyes, partly through the pain, and partly through anger that she was not strong enough to give clear orders and be obeyed. "I don't want food. Give me … Faelnirv … for energy …"

"What is it?" the dwarf asked, and Arya repressed a groan of frustration. "Lady, we have it not in our remedies."

"It is not a remedy," Arya said, focussing as severely as she could on the woman's face, though it swam about in a funny way. "It is a drink … for stimulating … the body … And I need it … now."

"We have it not. Elvish things we do not keep." The Healer's homely face contorted in consternation as Arya gasped - a loud sound in the stillness - because Eridor's scales were digging into his exposed flesh and he was in pain.

_Tell them __'__whiskey__'_, he said, trying to speak to her and block the pain from his mind at the same time. _It is Faelnirv! _

Arya blinked; for a moment the red were-lamp had seemed to flicker purple, and it made her head spin. "Whiskey?" she said, spitting the word out amidst the pain in her ribs. "You have - whiskey?"

"No, Lady! Not for medicine, indeed!" exclaimed the Healer, who was busy with various instruments in her leather bag. But she froze, as, with much ejaculation and streams of dwarvish, one of the waiting warriors barged past his fellows, and took from his ox-hide belt a flask of horn.

"Whiskey!" he said, waving at Arya, who saw three flasks instead of one beneath her nose. "Drinkitt!" he cried in broken words. "Drinkitt, good!"

_Go __**on,**__ Arya! It is safe, I__'__m sure._

Too tired to argue and too confused to understand what whiskey was, Arya took it and, with cold hands, tipped the whole thing into her mouth.

"_Pah!_"

She straight away clapped her hand to her mouth, eyes watering and throat blistering. Even Eridor was for a moment distracted from his pain. The whiskey was burningly powerful and so hot! She could feel it tearing a searing path down her throat and it shocked her body and mind into wakefulness again.

"Az barzarg knurla nash kaz!" The dwarf who had given it to her was staring at her, eyes bulging. "Reiz cratz vorzurgha catrazh!"

Arya stared back at him through watering eyes. "What, knurlheim?"

"All!" he said in his oddly-accented voice. "All gone!" An awed look crept into his expression. "Guntera vorz, vanyali -"

"Enough, man," the Healer said sharply. He subsided into wide-eyed silence, and the woman stared instead at Arya. "How you feel, now?"

Arya blinked; it had worked, that whiskey, exactly whatever it may have been. The pounding in her head had subsided, and it was easier to think; her mind felt sharper, and the pain of her cuts and bruises faded. "Better … a lot better … Thank you, knurlheim," she added, inclining her head carefully to the soldier. He gaped wordlessly at her, beard wagging.

"It is not meant to be taken in such big … such big parts," her Healer said. She also seemed a little wary of Arya. "It inebriates, look you …"

"I am not inebriated," Arya said indignantly. Gathering her strength - which was suddenly considerably more - she pulled herself upright by use of the spikes on Eridor's drooping neck, and pointed at him, looking at the Healer sternly. "Heal him."

"But your neck, my Lady … 'tis very bad …"

Arya ignored her. "Heal my dragon now. Do it as best as you possibly can. Do you know the Words of Changing Flesh?"

"I am the most oldest Healer here," the woman replied coldly. "I know all the healing ways."

"Good." Arya gritted her teeth for a moment, as a wave of slight nausea overcame her. She would not be any use until she had some real, true energy in her. But she could not take it from the dwarves, and certainly Eridor had none to spare. But then her tired eyes alighted on the red were-lamps that dotted the silent streets, and she smiled. They were sustained using spells of a clever, though simple kind, and Arya knew that in each was a small portion of energy that kept them burning.

She stretched put her mind, trying not to let Eridor's own anguished one hinder her movements, tempting though it was simply to go and comfort him, and felt for all the lamps on the nearby streets. And then she drew it all to her, absorbing them into her tired body and plunging many alleys into darkness.

The dwarves - but for the stern Healer kneeling at Eridor's side - cried out in surprise and consternation. Arya felt a twinge of guilt - it would make a lot of inconvenient work for somebody, re-casting all the spells on all those lights - but repressed it: it had been necessary.

Joints soothed, energy regained, and much steadier on her feet, Arya turned back to Eridor, watching anxiously as the Healer said the long string of complicated words that would knit the flesh and scales back together.

But the injury was horrible: Arya had not seen it clearly before and it was foul. The long incisors of the Fanghur had driven deep into the delicate muscles that moved Eridor's spiked tail, and the scales that had been such good armours were twisted and some had fallen off; blood and scraps of red gristle floated around the unhurt scales and dropped to the floor. Arya stared in horror at it, and tried to comfort Eridor, soothing his mind and offering words that made no sense but were meant kindly.

" … Reisa jarthruin ashmana palitha niaduen …" Arya gripped Eridor's neck spikes tightly as she watched the last of his flesh being pulled back together. "Bring my bag, warden," the Healer said, and after receiving it started bathing the still-inflamed skin in a oil very much like Arya's tea tree.

_Did she do it right? _Arya asked, gently probing at Eridor's tired mind.

_Yes, she is very good. It feels like new. _

_Good, _Arya said, sagging with relief. _I am so glad - I though you would loose too much blood __…__ or something worse. _

_Not me. _Eridor gave quiet laugh. _It would take more than a Fanghur to stop us, eh?_

_Yes, exactly, _Arya said, laughing, so relieved it was yet again hard to think. _What things we can tell Eragon and Saphira when we get back!_

_I look forward to it. _Eridor, however, still had no energy; and he refused to take Arya's. When he tried to stand, his knees buckled. _I am afraid that I will have to stay here a while longer, _he said, sounding irritated. _But you had better go._

_Where? _Arya asked, confused. _I won__'__t go anywhere without you, Eridor -_

_No, no! _Eridor exclaimed. _The queen! _

_Barzul, _Arya said bleakly, angry with herself. _I forgot, fool that I am! _"Healer, where is your queen? I have the antidote to her poison in my pack."

There were cries of shock and relief amongst the dwarven troops, and many of them made signs of gratitude to their Gods over their broad chests. Arya eyed the healer sternly.

"I hope that it will still work as long as her blood has not fully changed. I have instructions on how to administer it. And I am quite strong enough now."

The Healer - for whom Arya felt a growing respect - looked utterly stunned. "But how, Lady? Orik Konungr sent to the elves with no hope for an answer! And you come, you with your dragon! Guntera blesses us, and Kilf protects us today more than ever." She thumped her hand on her chest in a reverent manner and bowed slightly.

"That is good," Arya said stiffly, uncomfortable as always when they mentioned their Gods. "But take me to her now, as quickly as possible, if you please."

"Yes, Lady." The Healer picked up her leather bag, bowed to Eridor, who looked rather surprised, and then straightened up, though she still only reached Arya's middle. "This way."

They set off through the dark city, taking the stately main roads and presently they came to the main part of the palace; all the guards admitted Arya and her guide without question - the woman was evidently well-known - and soon Arya found herself in a long corridor, adorned with bright tapestries and sculptures in coloured rocks sat in niches in the stone walls. Yellow light spilled from a door at the end, and many different voices drifted to Arya's ears, all tense and worried, and all in the dwarven tongue.

"It is my Queen's chamber," the Healer said, and respectfully drew back to let Arya in first.

For a very short second, all Arya could was the silks and multi-coloured curtains that filled the room; then she blinked, and looked about. Three dwarves - one man and two women - were milling quietly about the chamber, and the man stood at a white porcelain basin, filled with warm water and was washing a rag in it.

But it was the bed that drew Arya's reluctant eyes, and the poor, miserable figure that lay on it. Arya had never had many dealing with Orik's queen, but she had quietly respected her stately manor, and precise way of going about her duties; how, then, could the sweating, wretched figure on the spacious bed be that same woman?

Arya drew nearer, oblivious to the startled, hostile looks of the surrounding dwarves, but stopped at least a few feet from the bed: there was something wrong with the shape of her patient, and a strange swelling …

"Hellfire!"

Only such a considerable shock would have surprised Arya into swearing at the sickbed of a queen; she looked accusingly at the healer who had guided her there.

"Why didn't you _tell _me she was with child?!"

With out waiting for an answer, Arya took her pack from her back, and, dropping it on the carpeted floor, approached the woman, hands balling into fists.

"Hvedra?"

The dwarf turned her tortured, sweating face to Arya, a look of utter despair and terror on her face. Her firm mouth was hanging slack, the wide forehead creased and hot; she held her swollen belly tightly, agony in every line of her short form. There was no recognition in her blurry gaze, but Arya was not untrained in the ways of a Healer, despite that she rarely worked outside a battlefield. She softened the lines of her faces, and leant down with an air that vaguely reminded her of her mother.

"I am Arya. Your husband sent to me to come and heal you."

Hvedra's eyes widened, but suddenly she convulsed, sinking her head onto her chest, thrashing wildly in an effort to deal with the pain. The Healers around her leapt into action, applying cool towels and trying in vain to comfort their patient. Arya's own Healer turned to her, her brown eyes wide with fear.

"It is always like this. She is quiet, and then explodes! I have it not in my training to deal with the poison."

"How long now?" Arya asked hollowly, her mind working furiously. "How long has it been in her system?"

"Three full days and one night."

Arya closed her eyes for a moment, trying to remember exactly what had been written in that old scroll. Palancar had lived how long after being poisoned …? Her over-worked, worried mind could not recall, and it was important.

_Six days, _Eridor said obligingly; he had been listening into the conversation, and was quite able to understand. _Six days he lived in agony, and died on the seventh night._

_There__'__s still time, then, _Arya said, relieved but no happier; Hvedra's life depended on Arya's skill as a Healer and Niduen's clear instructions from the Master Healer. She pulled her pack towards her, searching through the layers of clothes and blankets until she found the carefully sealed and warded scroll with the instructions on. Hvedra had fallen silent again, and her rattling breath was the only sound in the room.

"Please get me a pestle and mortar," she said, looking at the man sharply. "Quickly. Tell no one that I am here."

"Yes, Lady," he said in thick tones, and bustled from the room. Arya reached once more into the pack and soon found the small, hexagonal jar that contained the bright powder that was the antidote. The cries of the poisoned woman reverberated around the stone chamber; Arya pulled the scroll apart, and started to read.

Eragon stared at the pink strips of sun that were dying away on the horizon of the Desert, but did not really see it. There had been no signs of anyone, dragon or otherwise, travelling across the Desert, and nowhere had they met Arya and Eridor, collapsed from the heat or wounded my nomads' spears; it was, on the whole, a good thing that they had passed this far seemingly unhurt, but they were only halfway through the Hardarac Desert.

He and Saphira had barely exchanged a worry, though her earlier prickliness had disappeared; they simply kept going, and were united in their worrying. Eragon felt a lump of true anguish in his heart when he thought of Saphira's premonition, and of Arya and Eridor's suffering; and Saphira could not wholly shake it from her mind, and her fear was worse than Eragon's: Eridor was the only other one of her race left and she felt for him as fiercely as Eragon did for Arya, but in a rather different way.

_Do you think that Hvedra will still be alive? _he asked eventually, as a cluster of spiky cactuses passed underneath them.

_I don__'__t know. We didn__'__t even ask the name of the poison. I hope Arya manages to cure her; we will not be able to._

_I hope so. _Eragon closed his eyes, trying to dispel the images and thoughts that flooded his mind. What if they got there, and found that Arya and Eridor had never arrived, that the dwarves hadn't even known they were coming? What if Hvedra had died; and if Eragon and Saphira were not able to find Arya and Eridor? They were all of them possibilities; and this worrying was a new thing entirely for him and Saphira: even Roran and Nasuada did not incur such repetitive, vivid, heart-stopping worry.

This was more than him alone worrying for just Arya; it was more than the fact that he loved her; it was for Eridor and Arya, for the only other Rider they knew, their closest and most trusted friends: it was for friendship, and only now in the face of such danger did Eragon and Saphira realise quite how much Eridor and Arya meant to them.

* * *

Arya dipped a china spoon into the paste she had made with the ground powder, and carefully measured the dose, then turned back to Hvedra, feeling distinctly hot about the neck. "Hold her," she ordered the four Healers, and each one held tightly a foot or hand, for Hvedra was very strong in her paroxysms of pain.

Arya forced open the queen's mouth, pushing firmly on each side of her jaw, and when her teeth were fully exposed, pushed in the spoon, emptying the paste in as quickly as possible.

It was not a nice remedy; it smelt of dead flowers and dust, and so Hvedra objected very much when she felt it in her mouth. Arya quickly dropped the spoon and clapped her hand to Hvedra's mouth so that she could not spit it out, while with other hand she massaged the woman's glands, to encourage her to swallow it.

With one large gulp it went down, and Arya stood back. The queen coughed and retched, but it was done.

"Wash her," she ordered the Healers, who leapt into action with water and towels. As they did so Arya loaded another spoon, and forced it down Hvedra's swollen throat, forcing it down and holding her mouth shut.

"She starts again!" cried the woman by her side. "Hold her!"

Hvedra was thrashing again, knocking the spoon away and rolling around, holding her belly and moaning; Arya leant forward over her body, trying to calm her; but one of Hvedra's flailing hands hit her full across the cheek with the strength that only a desperate person summon, and Arya reeled back, holding a hand to her face. It hurt.

"Stand back," she told them Healers, but they did not obey, and hung onto their charge's limbs still. "Stand back!" she said forcefully, glaring at them. They stood back sullenly, and Arya leant again over the woman.

"Slytha," She placed her hands on Hvedra's wild eyes and carefully entering her mind; the thrashing stopped, and her body went limp.

"What did you do?!" cried the male Healer. He pushed past Arya to the bed. "Elf, what have you done?!"

Arya looked at him with great disdain. "I have given her sleep. It is easier for her and us this was."

"No, no!" He pulled at his hair and beard desperately. "You have put her too deep! She is too ill to pull out now!"

"If you do not listen to me, Healer, she will never recover at all! Do you want my assistance or not?"

"Not, not!" he cried; Arya thought he looked quite deranged. "Dwarves will heal dwarves. We do not need outsiders' help."

Arya frowned at him, very much annoyed. "How well can you guard your mind?"

But she felt his answer in his mind before he said it. "Never mind that! Just leave us, Elf, I beg you!"

She lifted one eyebrow at him; and, quick as she was able to, invaded his mind, overwhelming his defences and speaking aloud, "Slytha."

He slid to the ground in a dead faint. The other three stared at him, eyes wide and scared. Arya felt a slight twinge of regret, but quelled it. "Is there any one else who has any objections to my methods in saving your Queen?"

They said nothing. Arya softened her face a little, for she needed their help, and, glancing down at the man's motionless body, said, "He is only asleep. I did not hurt him. He would not have been useful in what we have to do."

"What is that?" The oldest Healer said, the one who had healed Eridor. "He was a senior Healer, Lady. It was not your right."

Arya didn't bother to argue, and turned away. "I have not the time to debate dwarven rights with you," she said icily. "Will you help me or not?"

"For my Queen, I will help you." The one who had spoken first stood up. "But if she does not recover, then you _will_ answer to the Council."

"Very well," Arya said coolly. "Though it was not I who poisoned her."

The three women came forward, and Arya once more turned back to the jar of orange paste, scooping a level amount onto the china spoon. "Will you please heat water for a bath," she said quietly, so as not to risk alarming the ill woman any more, "and prepare it with plenty bay leaves and vinegar."

Despite that Niduen had suggested it, as it calmed the joints, Arya felt as if she were practicing some kind of obscure rite; it smacked of folklore. As the Healers went about, stoking the fire until it roared and hooking a large cauldron above it, Arya bent over the sleeping Queen. She opened her mouth, and carefully inserted the paste; and before Hvedra could notice, massaged her glands; and down it went, easier that the last time and with much less hassle.

In this way, the rest of the pot was consumed. Hvedra was only just starting to stir when the Healer came to tell her the bath was ready, and that they had moved their male companion's body into the next room. Quickly, before she woke, they undressed Hvedra and settled her in the bath, erecting screens and keeping more hot water at hand; Arya was very pleased, and impressed by their common sense. As she got more and more tired, the three women became brighter and brighter: they thought their beloved Queen was recovering.

Arya hoped so - she thought it might happen. Gone was the nightmare of a few hours ago, in which she had been exhausted, bleeding, and Eridor had been close to falling unconscious upon the stone floor of Tronjheim, while a woman died. Now Eridor was rested, and Hvedra was quite and calm, and had taken all of the antidote. Hope was restored.

With this cheering thought, Arya filled the pot that had contained the antidote with warm water and swilled it around, making sure all the last dregs were stirred. She stepped around the screen, and poured it into the bath with bay leaves; this, Niduen said in her scroll, was so that it would cool her blood completely. Hvedra was still sleeping, but quietly; the healers were holding her still in the large copper bath, and there was a pillow under head.

Arya quietly bent to check her pulse; and instead of the racing, desperate beat she had felt before it was steady and easy. Arya was so relieved that she sat down on a near stool, and sighed; the Healer who had threatened to bring her before the dwarven Council looked up. Her face, red with the heat of the water and fire she had been bending over and the hours she had been awake, was a mirror of Arya's.

"She is better now, is she not?"

"I think so." Arya gazed at the sleeping woman. "I hope so. But we will have to wait and see."

"I think she is better. I have been a senior Healer to the royal family for many years. I was there at Hrothgar's death. I nearly died with him, when the spell hit the wards I had around him …" Arya looked up in surprise, but the Healer was now looking at her charge, face clouded over. "King Orik trusts me. He tells me to look after them - she and the child. I try, but she is poisoned - and I - I do nothing. I know nothing, how to heal it. I told the King to send for help. I did not think it would come in time."

Arya stared at the woman, surprised and quite moved by her words. "The elves have had their … differences with your people - but we all hate Galbatorix. We want him brought down, just as you do. We respect you, and we all fight for the same end."

"That is so, Lady." The Healer nodded, glancing at Arya for a quick moment. "But you are not an elf." Arya jumped, and wondered if lack of sleep and gone to her head.

"Excuse me?"

A small smile lifted the corners of the Healer's firm mouth. "You have the Silver Hand … and you have a dragon."

"Oh … yes." Arya blinked, remembering that she knew about Eridor; what explanation could she give? "He is my dragon, yes. But you must not say anything to anyone! Do not let one word of what you know about us leave this room, do you understand?! Galbatorix must not know of his hatching."

The woman stared at her solemnly. Then, slowly, she thumped her hand on her chest, and bowed a little to Arya. "Vel einradn iet berundal. Upon my word as a Healer of Wounds, I shall not breathe a word, Lady."

Arya said nothing, so overcome and taken aback by this movement that she had nothing to say: the Healer had bound herself in the Ancient Language, sworn by irrevocable vows to be silent. She would never be free of it.

"Why …" Arya stopped as Eridor pushed his way into her mind.

_You saved her Queen, and you can see how much she loves Hvedra! She is offering friendship, and a truce __…__ and she wants to show that she respects you. _

_I suppose so, _she said quietly to him, then looked back at the Healer. "What is your name?"

"Lorzhara, of Durgrimst Ingietum." She gave Arya long, clear glance, and then turned back to Hvedra, who was starting to move a little amidst all the steam. She smoothed the wet hair back from the tall forehead with a tender movement. "She is my grandmother's sister's granddaughter. Not very much closeness in blood, but I have always cared for, through all her hard life."

Arya smiled a little, quite moved by that one, small show of affection. "My cousin is always trying to look after me," she said, remembering Niduen's constant, chiding advice. "She is older than me, also."

Lorzhara looked at her with an odd expression. "How old are you?" Arya bristled, not wishing to say anything on that subject, and she made to get up, but Lorzhara caught her sleeve quickly. "Please, I did not mean offence. I cannot tell by your face, you see. I wanted to know if you remembered the Riders before they fell … that is all."

Arya, once more surprised, sat back down with a bump. "I was born three years before the Fall. My father was killed in the battle at Doru Areaba … though it was not merely a battle," she added angrily, hand clenching into fists. "It was a slaughter, and the cursed Forsworn spared no one."

"You do not remember the old Riders, then?" Lorzhara sighed. "I was born five years after the Fall. We were all poor, and ill, and we had little food. The Thirteen Cursed -" Arya knew she meant the Forsworn " - were always attacking Tarnag, and few goods got through the Beors unharmed. Me and my family were always hungry, always tired, and my parents died. Then Brom came, and he made the Varden here, with Hrothgar. Hvedra's family took me in; and when she was born, I became her minder. I have rarely left her side since, and we fought on together."

Arya listened to this, to this miserable tale spoken with such courage, and felt confused. This woman was only a little younger than herself; her life had hardly been better than hers - worse, almost - and yet she seemed happy with her life, and she did not fear to let she, Arya, see that it upset her still. Arya wanted to be able to say that she was sorry for her losses; but could not. It was alien to her, and she did not know how.

"You … you have not failed her, Lorzhara," Arya said hesitantly, knowing how ironic it was that she was offering comfort. "No one could have stopped it happening .. And no one else knew how to cure, either. You saved her by healing Eridor - that is, my dragon - and curing us, the only ones who could have saved her."

"Perhaps that is true." She reached into the bath and poured some water over Hvedra's neck and face to wash all of her body; Arya could not see her face. "But you saved her, whatever else we did."

One of the other women came in, holding a large cauldron with more hot water to top up the levels in the bath. She carefully emptied it in and stopped when it became warm enough. Arya fell silent and the woman with the cauldron turned to Lorzhara, murmuring a few words in dwarfish.

"Yes, she will be better now," the Healer said in reply, with a quick look at Arya. "Are you tired now, Rasha? You and Siliza can go to rest now … make sure you do not mention anything about this evening to anyone until further notice, yes?" she glared severely at the woman, and then looked at Arya. "You can go as well … I can look after her well enough now."

Arya did not even mind being talked to as if she were one of Lorzhara's subordinates, but she was not quite prepared to do as she said. "I do no think that would be right … I should see it through to the end …"

"Vorz, Vorz!" The other woman - Rasha - was pointing at the bath, and pouring out panicked words in dwarfish. "Vorz Hvedra Kashmana!"

Lorzhara sprang to her feet and Arya followed suit. Hvedra had woken up, and was moaning, crying in pain and holding her swollen belly, face screwed up in pain. Arya stared down at her, heart in her mouth.

"Is it the poison?" she asked numbly. Lorzhara did not reply, apparently too surprised to speak. Rasha was gasping excitedly, and the other woman had arrived, twisted her apron in her hands.

"Blazh grayr manwi crazh, Misastra Lorzhara?" she asked, eyes wide with fright. This seemed to raised Lorzhara from her stupefied state.

"Get clean towels and heat some more water, Siliza." The urgency in her voice was unmistakeable. "Rasha, go and get Gerta or Mistress Razhabel if you can find her - Quickly, girl! Go!"

The two Healers scurried away, their homely faces full of fright, but also a strange excitement Arya could not understand. Lorzhara had bent over Hvedra again, but Arya caught her arm swiftly. "Who are these people? Why do you need them?" she demanded sharply.

But at that moment Hvedra gave another sharp cry of pain, and the water sloshed over the sides of the bath. Lorzhara met Arya's eyes defiantly.

"They are midwifes. Hvedra has gone into labour."

Eragon stared. This was ridiculous. So many different types of blood he could not tell which was which. There was the blood of a Fanghur, there of a wolf who had tried its luck on a feed not dead; there, however, was the hot, bright blood of a dragon, and was unmistakeably Eridor's. It had burnt into the stone and wood it had fallen on, directly beside that of the wounded Fanghur.

They were in a small valley, where Saphira had spotted the creature, lying on its back, groaning. Very gingerly they had approached it, but had found it very weak. But amongst its own blood was that of Eridor's. Hearts-in-mouth, Eragon and Saphira had searched the area, but found nothing.

_Nothing, Saphira. We__'__ll just have to keep going. _

_Oh, well __…__ You__'__d better heal it, _she said a little grudgingly, eying the Fanghur severely. _They are a rarity here._

_And Durgrimst Fanghur would never forgive me, _Eragon added grimly. _I know. _

He said a few words of healing, repairing the rip in its brown wings and repairing the scratches on its side. He got onto Saphira quickly, so that it would not follow them, and she took off. The valley they were leaving was very close to the Lake of Kostha-merna as the crow flew, and Saphira was faster than nay crow. In a few short minutes, the clear blue of the water was visible and Saphira landed by the edge of the river that ran down it.

_I hope to the Gods that they are here, _he said after he had climbed down from her back; he looked apprehensively at the great wall of water that was thundering down from the cliff. _Gods bless._

_Come, then, _Saphira said, nudging him forward onto the narrow rib of rock that ran around the edge of the lake. _We shall see who we are favoured by._

Arya did not at first notice the Healer who approached her with bundle of cloths and soft blankets until it was shoved into her hands by a solemn Siliza.

"What - no -"

The girl poured out a string of words in dwarfish, and hurried off again to the fire, where Hvedra was being attended. The bundle moved, and waved one of its tiny, pink fists. Arya looked down at it, the shape unfamiliar in her arms, more used to a sword than to youngsters.

Hvedra's new son was very small, a premature birth; but his brown eyes were bright and inquisitive in his rumpled, pink face; she could almost imagine the beard on that dimpled, hairless chin and thick hair on the bald head.

He smelt soft and warm, and he was hot in the blankets; Arya did not know the smell of babies, nor the feel of one, nor how a new-born child looked; but she stared down at the tiny dwarf and marvelled.

His hands were so small, his nails perfectly formed, yet miniature; and the tiny feet that kicked, complete with seven toes and heels and ankles and chubby calves; the mouth and wispy eyebrows that already had a look of Orik's; and the way he grinned and gurgled and twisted around in the swathe of blankets.

She jiggled him awkwardly, and lifted him higher to her chest, still staring. Eridor looked at him through her eyes, and chuckled. But Arya saw nothing funny, and although she felt ridiculous, she was quite entranced by the child, and she gently lifted her hand and touched its soft head. He jumped, and started to whimper.

"Oh no - no, hush, hush …"

A little wiser this time, she rocked him gently across her chest, and touched his waving fist; immediately he grabbed it, and squeezed her finger with surprising strength for such a small thing. Arya stroked his head carefully and he waved his hand about, along with her finger.

A smile came onto her face, one that was quite unguarded, and showed that she was quite entranced with the new prince. She did not even hear Lorzhara arrive, nor the door open.

"Vladir barzh kumgagil, dozh ragarz bitz gorv …!"

The rough male voice jolted Arya into awareness of her surroundings. A man had just entered and was kneeling by Hvedra; Arya scowled. Hadn't she told that healer to leave them alone? And he was not allowed to bother her when she was in such a delicate condition. She held the baby closer and marched in high dudgeon to the Healer.

"Didn't I tell you that you were not wanted here?" she said fiercely but quietly to avoid upsetting the child. "I demand that you leave, now -"

"Arya!" For the first time Arya this dwarf's face. She had barely a second to recognise her mistake. "Arya, by the Gods, how is this possible?! And - and the baby -!"

"Orik!"

The King disregarded this, and sprang to his feet, beard wagging. "You blessed woman! You saved my wife - my child -" his dark eyes lit up as he saw the bundle in her arms. "Is that - that -"

Hvedra watched with half-open eyes from where she lay on the soft bed where she had been when Arya had first come, and smiled in a dazed, but pleased way. Arya glanced at her, and then carefully handed the bundle of baby to Orik. He took it, and gazed down at his child.

"Boy or girl?" he asked breathlessly, stroking the little boy's head with utter adoration.

"Boy," Arya said quietly. Orik made a funny cooing noise and hugging the baby tightly, swaying it and rocking it from side to side. Hvedra watched him with absolute absorption and the Healers were busy emptying the bath water away, and folding up the screen.

Arya watched the homely scene in front of her, and despite that it was a triumph, a life saved and new life born healthy and whole, felt rather lonely. She had no other person to share it with but Eridor and she heartily wished it was otherwise. So, when she was sure everyone in the room was occupied she slipped silently through the stone door and away; the joyous dwarves did not notice and she was not missed until much later, by which time she and Eridor were fast asleep in a deserted guard-room on the other side of the city walls.

Lol, I found out to make those line things! Very useful, because **OoOoO **was really quite annoying. Anywa, hope this wasn't too long a wait - I've been writing an Enlgish assignment by hand, writing this, and starting Biology as well. I'm so glad I haven't come to the tapeworm part yet! Ew ...

:grins: who saw about Lembit Opik and his Cheeky Girl? It's only because they were on All Star Mr and Mrs! He just does it to embarrass us all here, in his own constituency. I can tell you here and now that the Lib Dems will _not _be in power here after the local elections!


	49. Golden Moments

Oh, thank you all so much for all those gorgeous lovely reviews!! I'm so, so sorry that I couldn't reply to them all.

Meh, and you know the usual excuse for it!

Chapter Forty-Nine.

Golden Moments.

"Dammit!"

Eragon swore explosively, but he was almost too frightened to go on. The stone he knelt on was wet, but Eragon did not notice. He picked something from the pool of dried blood and held it on his palm.

_Fanghur? _Saphira asked frantically.

_No. Dragon._

Heart beating wildly as if was trying to break free from his body, Eragon stared at the thing in his hand. It was a long, oval-shaped scale, rock hard, but broken around the edges; and it was a bright, forest green.

_Eridor__'__s. _

Saphira moaned, as frightened as he was. _We have to see if they are inside! Ask the guards, and if they__'__re not __…_

_Don__'__t say that! _Eragon leapt up, and, scale clutched tight in his hand, starting running again, his feet strong and sure on their path, but fear for Eridor and Arya made him feel sick to the stomach. Saphira followed him, tense and taught as a bowstring; she lifted her head to catch any scent that would show the approach of the things that had caused the injury of Eridor's that had made him lose his scales in such a way.

There was a very narrow path behind the waterfall, which enabled a person to get to the doors of Tronjheim without being thoroughly soaked. Eragon darted along this gap, and Saphira hurled herself through the cascade of icy water without stopping in their headlong rush.

"Ai Varden abr du Shurtugals gata vanta!" he shouted, pounding on the wall of rock with the smooth round stone. "Az varbulz nesa uzh tash!" he added in dwarfish as best he could. "Come _on_! Open!"

There was a slight grating sound, and rock wall slid backwards from two splits in the centre, the ancient doors that were two feet thick swinging inwards on massive hinges. But before even the small contingency of dwarves could march out into the cavern behind the waterfall, Eragon and Saphira had darted inside, right into their swords and spears.

"Shadeslayer!" the dwarf at the helm of this little band said, looking shocked. "What is wrong?"

Eragon stared at the one who had spoken, and who looked rather worse for wear, and grabbed his arm urgently. "Has a dragon and Rider come into the city? An elf and a green dragon?!"

The leader's rugged face twisted in consternation. "We have been ordered to silence, Shadeslayer …"

"By who?" said Eragon fiercely. The dwarf chewed his beard and his fellows murmured uneasily. "Who told you to be silent?"

They were all quiet. Eragon swore under his breath. "Is this person higher in command than I am?"

"Hard to tell, Shadeslayer … Hard to tell …"

"You mean you just accepted whatever he said?" Eragon replied disbelievingly. The chief shook his head.

"She was trustworthy, I swear to it. She spoke in the elven tongue."

"_She_?" Eragon repeated incredulously. "Oh, Hellfire … Listen to me, then," he said, towering above the dwarfs and strengthening his voice. "I am Eragon Shadeslayer, member of Durgrimst Ingietum, foster son of Hrothgar Black-Hammer, brother in turn to Orik, current King of the dwarven realm, and I am Rider of Saphira Bjartskular. Do not tell me that you cannot answer my questions!"

"Aye, well …" The dwarf wavered. Eragon pressed his advantage.

_"Is there another dragon and Rider inside the city?!"_

There was a flurry of dwarven language between the leader and his soldiers; Eragon kept his stony eye on the chief, who stared back unhappily. "Well?"

"Yes, Shadeslayer … a green dragon and a female elf came this way hours ago."

"Yes!"

Eragon slapped his hand against his leg, so relieved that it felt as if a boulder had been lifted from his belly. "Thank the Gods. Are they safe? Unhurt?" he demanded of the dwarves.

"A senior Healer attended them when they arrived. The Fanghur had attacked them."

"I thought so," he replied rather distractedly. "Where did she go?"

"With the Healer, Shadeslayer - I cannot say where."

"Very well." Eragon clapped his hand to his chest in the dwarven way of showing thanks. "Thank you very much, commander." He grinned at Saphira, and soaking wet as she was she smiled distinctly toothily back.

_Come on, then, little one. _They started off the down the tunnel much quicker than the dwarves could go, and they followed the familiar tunnel., the darkness not at all oppressing, because through this tunnel had gone Arya and Eridor, safe and alive.

It widened out; and there was the wide, pale road that led through the centre of the crater, a path though the stalagmites that littered the ground. Eragon could hear vaguely the tramp of the dwarves' iron-clad feet, but he did not want to wait for them to arrive; they had no need of their help. Eragon promptly climbed onto Saphira's back into the damp saddle, and she took off, covering the ground with such energy and speed that Eragon could barely see the road they followed.

She landed with a great flourish of wings, and her long claws grated on the stone floor. They were right in front of the great golden gates that guarded the main entrance of the city itself, and the soldiers who stood by it - clad very finely in the livery of the Gate Wardens - lifted their mattocks to pound upon the ground.

"_Ssh_!" Eragon said severely. "Don't do that." He surreptitiously hardened the air around the Wardens, so that even if they did pound their huge mattocks on the ground in the way they were wont to, it would not make much sound. He slithered off Saphira's back, and asked in the dwarven language to be let through.

Looking rather disgruntled, they signalled for the gates to be opened. Eragon grinned at them, and darted through just ahead of Saphira: they were still in a hurry, just to check for themselves that that Arya and Eridor were all right.

But then came the crier. Eragon saw him open his mouth, and hushed him quickly. "Don't go waking everybody up just because we've arrived," he said quickly. The crier looked very sullen. Eragon frowned. "It's dark outside, you know."

"Oh, aye," he said sulkily, and retreated once more inside his little hut. Eragon blinked.

_They__'__re all very grumpy, aren__'__t they?_

_Never mind that, _Saphira said impatiently. _Ask someone where they are._

He caught the next guard he saw. This one, too, had orders not to reveal anything about Eridor and Arya, and Eragon had a rather long-winded conversation with him, because he did not really understand the Common Tongue, and Eragon's dwarfish was not quite as fluent as it could be. However, it being established that Eragon was indeed trustworthy, he was directed to an old group of large guard-rooms put out of use for some reason. They were, apparently, large enough for a dragon - at least, for Eridor.

Eragon knew Tronjheim well enough to find these rooms, and he darted along the wide streets with Saphira behind him; she could be almost completely silent when she wanted to be. Only her tail snaking over the stone floors gave her away, and it would have to be a very sharp-eared dwarf who would hear her.

The rooms were large, but not particularly conspicuous. Eragon could not feel any wards of Arya's design outside them, and so darted inside, only to enter yet another warren of tunnels and stout, iron-pegged doors.

_Oh, this is __**ridiculous**__,_ Saphira said exasperatedly. _Just see where they are, Eragon. _

But before Eragon could answer, or even stretch out his mind to find Arya's as she had said, there was a long, low growl from the wall. Eragon leapt to face it, hand on sword, thinking wild, half-formed thoughts of Fanghur and Nagra and the invasion of Tronjheim, but was confronted with Eridor's scaly, glittering wings.

"_Eridor_!"

His angled, hard face, white fangs bared, softened and assumed a look of unmistakeable surprise. He eyed Eragon suspiciously, as if expecting an impostor, then saw Saphira. Instantly, every line on his lean body tautened; and Saphira, to Eragon's surprise, became as still as a hunting tiger, and her eyes sharpened. The two of them stared, as if sizing the other up. Eragon dared not speak, but he looked for Arya nonetheless.

Eridor had been lying in a dark, deep corner, and on bed of thick woven sacks quite inappropriate for one so mighty, as Eragon was sure the elves would have said. But in this corner, unlit by the red were-lamps, was yet another iron-studded door. Eragon's heart leapt amid his first feelings of jubilation at seeing Eridor so very large as life.

But as he watched, it quietly opened, and a dark figure slipped from it. Before Eragon could call to her, or Eridor could turn and tell her they were safe, Arya had thrown a crackling, angry green fireball at Eragon. He leapt away from the spot, but Arya was already holding another. He hurriedly drew up a bright blue shield, so that she could see his colour magic, and shouted for a halt.

"Arya! Stop it!"

The light in her hand faded away as she saw Saphira, and Eragon could see amidst the gloom her tall shape running fleet as one of the horses her people bred towards Eridor. He swung to her as she came, and blocked her progress with his head. Eragon could not imagine what was happening.

Then Arya had dodged past Eridor's head, and was standing by his front claws. "Eragon?" she said, in a voice that was so surprised it sounded strangled.

"Yes … I …"

"But -" Arya rubbed her forehead, and Eragon knew that she must have been asleep; she would never have done that ordinarily. "But I thought you would stay in Ellesmera … and be safe …"

"With you and Eridor out here - going through the Hardarac Desert - and the Fanghur … and you'd never even flown together before?" Eragon replied jerkily, so relieved to see Arya, and speak to her, and know that she was not hurt was simply so wonderful that he felt light-headed. "Of course not …!"

"But I thought Niduen would keep you there - and safe!" Arya cried, the wide sleeves of her loose dark tunic flying as she made a sudden, convulsive movement towards him. "I asked her to - I told her not to let you both come!"

"Where would be the use in that?" Eragon demanded somewhat harshly. "You could have been caught by slavers -" they both glared at him for suggesting such a thing "- and I know you escaped those Fanghur, but there was no guarantee. What if you'd been killed? Or lost …? We wouldn't have been able to bear that, Arya …" Eragon stopped, afraid of revealing any more. Arya put her hand to her mouth, hiding what emotion behind it Eragon did not know.

"But why did you come?" she asked, lowering and speaking almost in a whisper. Her eyes shone in the reflection of the lamps in the dragons' scales. She had nothing on her feet.

Eragon tried to speak, but he could hardly finds words that would serve the purpose. "I … we had to now you both were safe … we would have - have -" Eragon could not carry on, and words were inadequate even in the Ancient Language. He and Saphira were only now, with the ones they had so fiercely pursued in front of them, realising how much Arya and Eridor meant to them.

Arya, too, opened her mouth, then closed it. She moved a little as she stood, as if she could not decide what to do. Eridor lifted his proud, strong head and gave Saphira a long look, one that no one, elf or human, could have interpreted. Saphira turned neck so that she could see Arya and Eridor both, and said quietly, _Had you been captured, had you been hurt, neither heaven nor Hell would have held us. Do you understand? _

Eridor lowered his head almost in shame, but Saphira fluttered her wings to gain his attention; she caught his gaze and held it. _A trifling disagreement between friends is nothing to be ashamed of. It is better to be a fool with foolish ideas than a politician with no opinions of his own. _

_I hardly think it was that. _Eridor cocked a bright, quick eye at her, the reserve he had been holding along with Arya leaving. _But I thank you for the compliment. _

Saphira gave a quiet snort of amusement, and fell silent. Eragon was quite bemused by this, for he not been aware of any disagreement between the two; but Arya was smiling at Eridor, a smile that Eragon could not deny as anything but beautiful; then she looked back at him, and it faded into a look of careful neutrality. They stared at each other.

"Hvedra has given birth. She is fine."

"What?" Eragon exclaimed, aghast; Saphira rumbled in surprise. A smile flitted over Arya's face.

"A boy. He is a little bit small, given his early birth, but quite healthy. Orik is beside himself."

"Yes, I bet he is." Eragon grinned, imagining the King he would doubtless meet very soon. "But the poison -"

"It was one of human invention. Your ancestors brought it over the sea, and King Palancar was killed by it!" Arya stifled a laugh at Eragon's expression. "I read it in one of those old histories the librarians keep, and we translated the name into the Ancient Language from the Domia abr Wyrda." She eyed him, knowing that it was impressive. "Niduen found the antidote in the Halls of Healing. She wrote me instructions."

"And it worked?"

"Yes; it took hours and hours … but it worked." Eragon met Arya's eyes, and even she could not restrain the delight and pride she took in curing the Queen. "Then she went into labour … and in another hour the baby had come." Another peculiar expression flitted over her face as she mentioned the child.

"What is his name?"

"I don't know." Arya's face clouded over. "I left before Orik could say anything more than he did." She looked rather discomfited. Eridor humph-ed quietly.

_He leapt up and blessed her, _he said quietly to Eragon. _Over and over again._

_What do you mean? _Eragon replied, carefully shielding their words from Arya.

_He said, __'__you blessed, blessed woman__'__ over and over. Then Arya gave him the baby and slipped away __…__ I think it makes her uncomfortable. _

Eridor fell silent; Eragon was left to think on it himself, and Saphira had said something herself to Eridor. Eragon looked back at Arya.

"Are you all right?"

"What do you mean?" she replied in a return to her customary coolness that she generally used when asked about her welfare.

"Did the Fanghur hurt you?"

"No," Arya replied shortly. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, then darted another look at him. "Not really. Eragon, you are soaking wet. Haven't you got a towel or something?"

He had the distinct impression she was trying to distract him. "Yes … but I think everything in the saddle-bags is soaking wet as well."

"Did you go for a swim before you came through the waterfall?" Arya said, a dry tinge to her voice.

"No," Eragon replied with dignity. "We were in a bit of a hurry."

Arya's face fell again. "Well, I have plenty of things like that; Niduen made sure of it. Come on." She turned back to Eridor and went to his side as he started to turn around. Eragon followed them, an odd mix of feelings jumping around inside him; Saphira was apparently very preoccupied, and said nothing.

Arya found her door in the dark corner, saying something about wanting be out of the way of everyone, and opened it; there were no wards. It was a rocky, irregular little room, lit by Arya's favoured of lamp, being one of her own creation. They bobbed in their little spheres at the corners of the room, the faintly green tinge making the stone look rather eerie; Saphira's leather hunting saddle was against the other wall, and Arya's bulging pack against the other. A rough table held some fruit and travelling bread, and the shelf that served as a bed was made with soft elven blankets.

Arya started to undo the many knots on her rather battered-looking pack, and extracted a towel made, Eragon could see, of finest elven linen. Arya dropped it into his hands and sat down on her bed, not looking at him. Eragon lifted the towel, and raised his eyebrows at the embroidery on it.

"When did you acquire a monogram, Arya?" he enquired politely. Arya grabbed it off him and examined it herself. She blinked.

"It is my father's crest." She looked extremely aggrieved. "I let Niduen look after my pack while I fastened the saddle on. She must have added all this as well. _I_ never use it." She did not look particularly annoyed, though.

"A raven?"

"Well …" Arya's mouth twitched. "Blagden, remember?"

"Blagden is your crest?" Eragon repeated, feeling the conversation to be entering very odd realms for so late at night. Arya made a clicking noise with her tongue.

"No … Just … ravens in general." She eyed him in a challenging way. "Dry your hair before you wet anything else of mine."

Eragon obediently lifted the towel again, but now something else made him stop. "What happened to the saddle?" he asked sharply. Arya glanced at it, and then at him.

"Eridor bled from the withers. It did not fit him."

"But -" Eragon looked again at the chips of scales and dried blood on the inside of the saddle. "But you know what an ill-fitting saddle can do. Are his - his …" Eragon did not know the right word in the Ancient Language. " … Are his tendons undamaged?" he finished in the Common Tongue.

"Yes. Lorzhara - a senior Healer - she healed him almost as soon as we arrived … and his tail, too."

"_Tail_?" Eragon repeated with increasing horror. Arya gave him a glance that was very much alike in character to Eridor.

"Outside the cascade … the Fanghur were attacking us, and we were exhausted. I'd blinded them with magic for a moment, but it wore off and then … as we got to the waterfall the last two swooped. I stabbed one's belly as it came, but …" Arya's fists clenched and unclenched in remembrance. "It screamed, and I … I couldn't stand it." She lowered her gaze, looking angry at saying this. "Eridor picked me up and darted through the water, but it bit his tail as we went."

Eragon grimaced. "We found some outside … dragon scales." He looked away from Arya, trying to push back the memory of that terrible, nightmarish flight around the lake and through the city.

"It was bitten right down to the bone." She, too, looked as if she were trying to ignore some recent feelings. They glanced at each other and then quickly away; Arya put her arms around her knees, saying quickly, "You needn't worry. We are fine … both of us."

"But," Eragon said, ever so softly, "why haven't you healed your neck?" Arya's head snapped up and she glared at him.

"I am fine." This said slowly and emphatically. Eragon held her gaze evenly.

"Are they from the Fanghur?" he asked, a little more firmly than before. Arya's mouth thinned.

"I will do it in the morning. I am too tired now." Had Eragon not been so used to her various glares and particular way of being stubborn, he would have given up.

"The Fanghur are filthy -" Eridor and Saphira both, at this, abandoned their conversation, and agreed wholeheartedly. "- and their claws will have all sorts of scum on them. The cuts will get infected if they are not healed now."

"I know that," said Arya stubbornly. "But Eridor and I have been working all night and three days and nights past as well, and we need to rest first. I will be quite capable of it in the morning."

Eragon sighed. "Then will you let me heal it?"

Arya froze; then, seemingly unconscious of doing so, put her hand to her neck where the vicious wound made by the filthy claws of the Fanghur had ripped through her skin. She glanced at Eragon, still standing in the centre of the room, with a peculiar look in her eyes.

"It will keep until tomorrow, Eragon," she said, as quietly as he had spoken. She got up off the stone bed and stood firmly before him, only a tiny bit shorter than he was and looking much fiercer. Eragon could not help but look at her, and think helplessly how beautiful she was.

"Please let me, Arya."

At the sound of her name, she jumped a little. She stared at him, and Eragon looked back with an earnest expression. "Eragon …"

Ignoring this, Eragon lifted his hand to her neck, and, hesitatingly, parted the thick hair that covered her neck and back. Arya was tense as a young colt. He knew he should not, for as well as he had his feelings under control, they were liable to sometimes leap out and surprise him; he examined the cuts determinedly; his jaw clenched at the sight of them.

There were three, long, jagged lines in her fair skin, a bruised, angry red and they rose to sharp ridges that ended in dying skin and drying blood. Eragon could all too readily imagine the vicious way in which they had been inflicted.

"Why didn't you get them healed?" he asked quietly. There had been a deep, absorbed look on Arya's face as he had been touching the cuts; but as he spoke, it left, and she moved away from his hand a little.

"I didn't notice them … and then there were more important things to do. Eridor tried to make me, but I didn't let him." This was corresponded by Eridor's rather coloured agreement. Eragon gathered that he was not at all happy at being unhurt physically when Arya was not; but he knew how stubborn she could be. Especially when tired.

"Will you let me, now, though?"

Eragon could see her weighing this in her mind; to be rid of the ever-so-slightly dangerous injury on one hand; but on the other, to have it done by him. But she was not looking at him, and Eragon soon realised she was conversing with Eridor, and was surprised to find the long debating such a simple thing needed.

_Ah well, _Saphira said wisely; _there__'__s more to it, isn__'__t there?_

_Is there? _Eragon replied somewhat warily.

_Of course there is __…__**you**_ _know __…_Saphira seemed a little excited herself. She refused to answer Eragon's questions and he soon gave up, and, coming back to his surroundings, found that Arya was still in that vague state that told she was talking telepathically. But as he watched, she came back to herself and, looking about, caught his gaze on her.

"You can," she said slowly, "if you think it is important."

Eragon was very relieved; but could not, for a moment, find anything to say. "Good," he said finally. "It is."

Wordlessly, she turned around and picked from the table a leather ribbon that Eragon recognised as the one she generally used to keep her thick hair out her face. She tied it deftly around her head and then held the long black curtain away from her neck. She was standing very close to him.

Eragon raised his hand again, touching by a hair's breadth her torn skin, feeling foolish, but also terribly aware of her proximity; and she knew it too. Her head was turned away, but she knew his hand was close to her, almost touching her skin that was normally so pale and flawless. The room was so quiet that Eragon could hear her soft breathing.

"_Waise heill_."

The angry red lashes faded, the skin knitting instantly back together; and in a matter of seconds underneath Eragon's glowing hand was a perfectly unhurt expanse of flesh. "There," he said softly, and now his feelings were reflected in his voice; but he quickly covered it up, though Arya had no doubt had felt it, and stood back.

"Thank you."

Allowed now to move her head back, Arya let go of her hair and took the band off; she never slept in it, because it got tangled in her hair, as she had once told him. The thick curtain fell back down; she immediately pulled it away so that it was away from her face, not noticing as she did so that Eragon was inwardly struggling with himself, trying not to let one bit of his feelings show.

"You're welcome."

It was always like this. While training, sparring, talking, he could contain himself; but when she did something so natural and unguarded, so unconsciously beautiful, it made his heart clench with quite helpless love. And then he would be short with her when she spoke to him; and she would give him a cool look, and talk to Eridor instead. It was a never-ending circle; and still she did not know the quandary she put him in.

Arya cleared her throat, jolting Eragon into awareness again. "Where are you going to sleep?" she asked . Eragon blinked.

"I don't know … We hadn't thought of that. The dragonhold, perhaps?"

"No." Arya waved an impatient hand. "The temporary floor fell through months ago, I was told. Otherwise we would have gone there." Evidently she was not fond of the rocky chamber. But her words brought back to Eragon a great and sudden shock.

"The Star Rose," he said suddenly; it felt as if a bucket of icy water had been poured over him.

"Yes, it is in a great iron casket where it fell …" Arya started to say, then paused. "What's wrong?"

"We swore to Hrothgar we'd fix it." Eragon felt numb; "He told us it was ready to be healed … the heart of Tronjheim."

"How were you going to fix it?" Arya asked, looking rather sceptical. She had never discussed with Eragon the day she had broken the Star Rose; they had never talked about Durza in the light of day. "It would take too much energy, surely …"

"No," Eragon said rather abruptly. "I don't know. It was Saphira … she promised him …"

Arya looked confused, but she pointed at a wooden crate standing nearby, and said in a fairly polite voice: "Sit down." Eragon stared at it, then sat on it as told, crossing his legs on the lid in a very elven manner. "How was Saphira going to do it? Even the dragons would have difficulty, wouldn't they?"

Eragon looked bleak. "Dragons can do anything; and the worst thing a person can possibly do is underestimate them. Saphira made Brom's tomb … she blessed Elva. She told Hrothgar that if she had the will to do it, and the true need, then she could do it … somehow."

Arya looked unconvinced, but did not voice her doubts. "But you can go and see it tomorrow. And you must see Orik as well."

"It feels as if I have broken a promise," said Eragon, and he put his head in his hands.

"Hardly your fault," she said sharply. And before she could say anything more, Saphira had spoken.

_No, _she said, sounding as unhappy as Eragon; _No, that was me, was it not?_

_I did not say that, Saphira, _said Arya firmly. _I would never. But last time you were here they had barely finished constructing the frame, and you have had better things to do since then._

"It is very important," Eragon said stubbornly. Arya folded her arms and sat back against the rocky wall of her chamber, frowning slightly.

"I did not say that, either. I am trying to tell you that you and Saphira are not at fault."

_Hmph,_ said Saphira, sounding unimpressed; here Eridor entered her mind and started talking to her himself; and their conversation faded out of Arya and Eragon's hearing. Arya looked rather satisfied at this, and Eragon wondered briefly why until she started speaking again.

"You will have to see Orik tomorrow," she said in a tone that Eragon heard only when she talked to him, though he could quite identify it. "And his son. You can ask about the Rose then …" she leaned forward, an intent look on her face. "But do not use all your energy on it. The heart of Tronjheim will have to take second place after your other duties."

"Such as what?" Eragon asked, not at all hostilely. Arya pursed her lips.

"Such as getting back to Ellesmera as soon as possible."

"Only when you and Eridor are ready." Arya stiffened and her face started to mask over. Eragon leaned forward too, expression earnest. "We are not trying to be charitable, and we do not think you are weak. But flying back to Ellesmera tomorrow with Eridor wearing a saddle that does not fit and you both being without sleep for a long while would be very foolish."

Arya had listened to this with a surprised look; but soon she had relaxed again, and a looked that was really quite friendly flitted over her face. "Well, you are hardly helping with that, are you? I'd be fast asleep if you hadn't come running in …"

Eragon smothered a smile. "I am really very sorry," he said solemnly. "Would you like us to leave you to your very important rest now?"

Arya waved a conceding hand, and he could tell she was hiding a smile. "Just stay there. You were thoroughly miserable two minutes ago."

Eragon laughed. "You have abolished that single-handedly, Arya." He bobbed his head in a mocking bow; she coloured, and Eragon realised that perhaps it would offend her.

But she did not look at all offended. Though her cheeks were slightly pink, her expression was one of amusement. "I am glad, or you would have brooded over it all night."

Eragon raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think that?"

Now Arya did look a little discomfited. "Saphira mentioned you have a habit of doing that."

Eragon grinned. "Next I suppose I will talking in my sleep and the whole of the Varden will know."

"Why?" blinked Arya. "Do you?"

"No! Well … perhaps we should ask Saphira, as she seems to be the authority on such matters." Eragon smiled at Arya, and she smiled back after a moment.

"No wonder you get along so well with Eridor." She left this remark unexplained, and continued, "Talking of sleep … there are many other guard rooms like this for you to sleep in, and the outside is for enough for Saphira and Eridor." Though she did not look very happy about it. At this, before Eragon could reply, Eridor entered the conversation again.

_Saphira and I will go and look for suitable ones, _he said to both of them. _You both can continue talking. _

_How kind, _Arya said, looking surprised at this speech. Eridor chuckled, and he and Saphira started off around the outside cavern, talking with all the intimacy of a long friendship. Eragon glanced at Arya.

"You are right about Isidar Mithrim. There is no point worrying about it. We will speak to Orik tomorrow. After," he said with a good-humoured look in his brown eyes that Arya knew very well, "greeting his new son."

"In that case you will be a long time." Arya smiled. "I have never seen a man so besotted."

"He is certainly entitled to it." Eragon's face grew serious. "I owe you many thanks for what you did for Hvedra, both as my Queen and my foster-brother's wife. She would not have lived otherwise."

The laughter drained from Arya's face. She looked down at her crossed legs for a moment. "I only carried out the instructions. Niduen got the antidote; the Master Healer in Ellesmera found it for her. Eridor carried me here. Hardly all thanks to me, Eragon."

"Perhaps. And when we return to Ellesmera, I will thank those two. But you cannot deny your part in her recovery, nor Eridor's. Orik will want to talk to you both, as well."

"Yes." But she did not seem very happy about it. "He must meet Eridor, of course."

Eragon nodded; but when he looked up and met her eyes, she glanced away, and the colour rose to her cheeks a little. Eragon could not understand. A decidedly awkward pause was starting to build when Saphira came back, along with Eridor.

_There is a clean room opposite this one, _she said to both of them. _It looks quite suitable. _

_Thank you, Saphira, _said Eragon immediately. _And you? _

_Eridor and I can sleep outside. We__'__ve been in worse places, remember that ravine by the Ninor?_

_Yes, I do, _replied Eragon, amused. _At least you__'__ll be dry._

_That too, _said Saphira, and she and Eridor once again ambled off, this time to the corner they had chosen. Eragon broke the connection, and looked at Arya, feeling rather foolish. She blinked quickly.

"So you can sleep there?" It was a rather inconsequential question, as Saphira had spoken to both of them.

"It will be fine." Eragon stood up; there was a strange kind of awkwardness between them, one that was not normally there; and, marvelled Eragon, they had been laughing together barely five minutes ago! "I'll go … I have let it get too late."

"All right," Arya agreed quietly. She stood up as well, and her light tunic fluttered at the movement. Eragon shifted uncomfortably.

"Goodnight."

She looked up at him, and for a moment he thought he saw a softness in her bright eyes; but she blinked, and it was gone. "Goodnight, Eragon. Sleep well."

"Sleep well, Arya." His hand was on the doorknob, but he did not yet go. Arya glanced at the door, then him, then the wall, and then to him again. Eragon knew he was the same, and felt almost like a shy child who saw a stranger on the road; but not quite: he knew Arya - so well - and it was that caused the friction between them, the great barrier that changed in strength and type so often.

As the silence seemed to solidify, Eragon turned to go, twisting the knob, but paused as it swung open, and looked back. "I am glad to see you, Arya. I am glad that you are safe." For a breathless second he dithered on saying it. Then: "I missed you." And the 'I' was conspicuous, he was sure. But Arya stared at him, and did not rebuke him.

She said nothing for another long moment. Eragon cleared his throat, coloured, and this time really did make to go. But as he left, he heard her move, and she spoke.

"I am glad you came. I missed you."

And she did not say 'we', or 'Eridor and I', but spoke just for herself. Eragon turned back to look at her, heart in mouth. But she had gone back to her bed and was making it. By her posture, he knew she was aware of him being there still. For a moment he teetered on saying something else. He had nothing to say, however; it was as if, by her words, the long silences had been transformed into sweet, golden moments and he wanted to keep it like that.

He stepped through the door, closed it quietly behind him, and then leant, eyes closed, against the stone wall. It was a long time before he went to find his own chamber.

* * *

Oh flip. I know .. not very good. I took soooo long on the - as my sister says - lovey dovey stuff! Please tell me what its like! Talk about bread with your butter. Any ideas for the Star Rose are welcome ... lol ...


	50. Family Memories

Eek! It's the FA Cup today! Cardiff vs Portsmouth. Right now, Porstmouth leads one nil. :sighs: As soon as I get into town I'm going to download that song, regardless of the outcome! Bluebirds Flying High, lol. This is the only time football interests me ... give me rugby any day! Lol.

Please enjoy! And thank you all so, so much for all those lovely, lovely reviews!! I'm sorry - as usual - it's so hard to reply.

Chapter Fifty.

Family Memories.

Arya sighed, and sat on a nearby chair, watching Eragon and Orik fawn over the baby. Eragon was holding it with an ease she knew she could never achieve, and the child did not seem to mind him, either. She felt rather isolated, and folded her arms, preparing to wait a good long while for them to finish delighting over the tiny Prince.

Orik was not the tired, frantic man of the night before. Now he was well-dressed, washed and shaven, and so far into the seventh heaven of delight that Arya was not sure he had noticed her yet. Perhaps if Eridor poked his head through the doorway …

But he was not allowed to leave the guard rooms; Arya had hidden her face and ears all the way to the nursery room they were now in. As Saphira had said, the less people saw them, the less chance there was of Galbatorix finding out about them. Eridor was not best pleased; he dearly wanted to meet Orik - a dwarf - and see the houses his people lived in, though Arya had explained it was not quite like that; and he wanted to see the baby that Arya had held.

The baby gurgled, waved its tiny fists, and kicked legs that barely stretched out from its cloth napkin. Orik took it, kissed it, and juggled it in a fashion that it seemed to like. Arya felt rather uncomfortable, and for a moment wished that she was confined to the guard rooms as well. She withdrew into her own mind, conversing with a rather put-out Eridor, and listening to him and Saphira talk. She did not notice Orik approaching.

"Arya."

His voice was gentle, respectful; and his touch was so careful as he handed his day-old son to Arya. And she found, to her surprise, that once again the baby had been bundled into her arms.

"Oh, Orik -"

But he did not quite catch her protestations, it appeared, and he was so proud, so full to the brim with pride and adoration, that Arya could not refuse. She held the tiny boy close, and stared down at him.

He was losing his red, scrunched-up look, and Arya could see that he would have his father's swarthy skin. His wobbly little chin was dimpled, and there were milk-stains around his rosebud mouth. And on his head, Arya saw to her wonderment, were a number of wispy, poker-straight dark hairs.

But he still had his baby smell; Arya touched him gently on a chubby cheek, and as she withdrew her hand from his soft skin, he grabbed her hand and clenched it with surprising strength. She smiled, as enchanted with the infant now as she had been last night when he had been only minutes old. And as she did so, she looked up; and caught Eragon's eye. He was slow to react and Arya wondered, briefly, what he could have been thinking about to have such an absorbed look on his face.

In a minute, however, he was by her side, though Arya could not remember him coming over from the empty cot. He smiled at the baby, and stroked the red, plump cheek with his rough forefinger. He was so close, in fact, that she could smell the rather leathery soap he had used that morning to wash the dirt of the road off him. She tried not to notice.

"Have you chosen a name yet, Orik?" Eragon said, making Arya jump, the baby gurgle, and Orik tug at his beard.

"Perhaps. Well." He looked rather embarrassed. "I have not been allowed to talk to Hvedra long enough to ask her. The Healers are quite insistent on it. But …" A sad expression flitted over his face; "… I want to honour Hrothgar for what he did for me … and to honour the Riders."

Eragon's hand froze as he touched the baby's head. "You don't owe us, anything, Orik ... I don't think …"

Orik's face was firm. "You are my foster brother - and how many times have you, I and Saphira fought together, eh? I would honour you were you not a Rider. However," he turned to Arya, and his expression was grave. "I have yet to meet your dragon, Arya. I realise that he is confined to the guard rooms, and I am sorry for that. I would like to meet him, and thank him, along with you."

Arya nodded. Now, she could see how very much like Hrothgar Orik was. He was wise, clever, and most of all he knew that the dragons were not merely dumb beasts. So many other dwarfs didn't. For this reason, she lowered her head briefly.

"Certainly you shall meet him. He asks me to send his regards to you, at any rate. If it were not for the sake of secrecy, he would have come today."

Orik bowed. "Then you will you please tell him I return his kind greeting, and look forward to making his acquaintance?"

"Yes, I will. Thank you." Arya looked back down at the baby, and as she did so caught sight of Eragon's expression, at the tenderness in his own face as he stared at his new nephew, as Arya supposed he was. She knew that he would be an excellent uncle to him; and she also in a brief, sudden flash, thought that he would be an excellent father. And then she thought that he would be very lucky to live to his twentieth birthday anyway.

She glanced again at the bundle in her arms, and at the miniature hand clutching hers, and felt now extremely sad: what was the use of this wondrous new life, when all of them lived in fear of Galbatorix; and if she and Eridor and Eragon and Saphira could not stop him, then this baby would grow up as she had done - as Eragon and Orik and Eridor and Saphira had done - fearing and fleeing the Black King.

And what about _her_ father? Brave Evandar, who had died at Doru Areaba, alone and forsaken? What had he thought when he had looked at his own daughter, barely seven years old at the time, before he had gone to war? Perhaps he had thought that he was going to make a better future for her. But he had not. He had died, and Galbatorix had taken the Citadel Illirea, and made it into Uru'Baen. There had been no bright promise of freedom since Vrael had died, and Evandar had died in vain.

There was a lump in her throat. Arya stared at the baby and determinedly pushed away the sadness that threatened to overwhelm her. It did not work very well. She blinked once or twice, and in an effort to dispel the weakness, looked up and around the room.

But then she caught Eragon's eye. _That _was unfortunate. He knew immediately that something was wrong; recently, he had been very good at knowing when she was unhappy.

"Are you all right?" he asked. Arya jigged the baby's clinging fists a bit and nodded. But she did not look up.

"Yes."

Eragon opened his mouth again, and Arya hoped he was not going to ask anything more; she was not sure her resolve would hold. But perhaps he could tell from her face, because he only said quietly, "May I hold him?"

She gathered her surprise together quickly. "Yes. Here .." She gently, but still somewhat awkwardly, passed the bundle over to Eragon. But the baby would not let go her hand, and Arya had to lean over him as Eragon held him.

Eragon, the soft head in one of his hands, laughed, but not loudly. "There. See how he likes you?"

Arya smiled, though to her annoyance found that the lump had risen again. She did not trust herself to say anything. Eragon looked down at her, because she was still captured by that tiny hand and had to lean over the child to keep him happy.

"Have you eaten?" Orik asked suddenly, and Eragon looked away from here, for which Arya was glad. She had an instinctive feeling that she and Eragon knew each other too well for her to hide her unhappiness at that moment from him for long.

"No. We wanted to be here before too many people were awake to see us." But he darted a look at her, and Arya knew that it was only her that could not be seen. Ah well.

"And your dragons?"

"Eridor is terribly hungry. He has not eaten for three days and four nights," Arya said at once. Though she had eaten a bit of way bread and the last of her dried fruits, Eridor had had nothing. She could feel his hunger, which was a very odd sensation indeed.

"Then he shall have as much as he wants," said Orik at once. He uttered one sharp command, and the guards who had been by the door entered. "Take the best raw meat to the old guard rooms at the South-West corner of level one," he said, and proceeded to swear them to silence.

Eragon did not seem to be listening. His face was shaded as he bent over the baby, but as Orik dismissed the guards he looked up. "Wait, Orik," he said suddenly. "Wait."

"What?"

"Isidar Mithrim. Where is it?"

Orik's face saddened. "She has been collected together in an iron cast, in the very place she fell. We have waited for you … for Saphira."

"I know." Arya could see that same guilt as last night creeping across his face. "And we apologise, for in all out duties we forgot this one. I know that it is shameful."

Arya bristled. "There are more immediate things for the Shurtugal to attend to than decorations!" she said quickly. Eragon looked at her in apparent surprise, but she did not meet his gaze. Orik lifted his bushy eyebrows.

"You would not say that if it were your beloved Menoa Tree that was lying in shards in your halls."

Arya blinked at this comparison, remembering the months Orik had spent in Ellesmera. But it angered her, too. "The Menoa tree is what a jewel could never be. She lives, she breathes …!"

Arya stared at the dwarf, and found herself recalling why, in all those years she lived with them, she had never been able to understand dwarves. Why would anyone who lived and breathed want to be underground in the gloom when there were stars and trees and the sun? No, she would never understand them.

"Your forest would not be your home without your Tree," Orik said sombrely, and did not rise at all to any anger. "Our beautiful city has no heart when the Star Rose does not shine. I will say no more than that, Arya, and leave it to Saphira and Eragon to do what they will with their promise."

Arya glared at him; it sounded very much as if Orik was trying to force Saphira to fix the gem by making her guilty. Of course, she knew that Saphira would hardly be tricked by such mortal intrigues, but it angered her that Orik would be so underhanded. She opened to her mouth to reply, but Eragon laid his free hand on her arm.

She turned to stare at him, but he put a slight pressure where he was touching her below her elbow, and made a face that indicated she should not get annoyed. This should have irritated her further - it would have done three months ago - but now she listened to him, and trusted him enough to do as he suggested.

"Do not worry, Orik," he said clearly; he squeezed her arm briefly in thanks; Arya could feel the warmth of his hand through the material of her shirt as if it were a burning hot coal. "We are not going to go back on our promise. Saphira simply wants to see it … I cannot explain what she plans to do, for I am not sure she knows herself."

"It is a weight off my mind," Orik said, a rough smile lifting the corners of his bearded mouth. His dark eyes twinkled. "And I know better by now, of course, than to be at all surprised by anything a dragon does."

Then his gaze fell on Arya, and his face clouded over. "I am not sure what quarrel you have about the Star Rose, Arya … but I will say, if I may, that I hope your Menoa Tree never falls by the same twist of evil fate as our Star did."

Arya lifted her chin slightly, but did not reply. She did not bother to say that _she_ had broken the gem; and that in doing so, she had given Eragon a chance to kill Durza, which had saved all of the dwarves' provinces and the Varden. Not to mention Tronjheim itself.

"Guards." Orik turned to the two soldiers, and Eragon lifted his head. He wanted to talk to them, as well. He turned with a smile to Arya.

"Will you put him back into his crib?"

Arya hesitated. Every time she held the baby boy it wreaked havoc with her feelings. "All right," she said doubtfully, and he was transferred to her arms. Eragon went to talk to the guards about something, but Arya could not bring herself to be interested. She walked slowly to the cloth-covered crib in the centre of the room, holding the baby's soft head in her hands. His eyes were closing slowly. She could see his tiny, feather-light eyelashes blinking.

She should have been a little hesitant to lay him down on his mattress, for she had never done very much at all with children. But it was as if she knew instinctively what to do; she laid him gently and easily on his bed, covered him with a soft blanket, and then straightened up. He was falling asleep as she watched; by the time Orik had finished with the guards, he was asleep.

"Arya?"

She turned around, feeling much better; just seeing the baby fall asleep, so small and innocent, had lifted the misery she had felt for her father minutes before. "Yes?"

"The guards will take us to Isidar Mithrim, if you want to come?"

"I think I will, yes …" She remembered the dreadful day she had smashed it, and of the fear she had felt. It would be good to see it, for one reason or another. By then, Eridor would have had some food, and she could go and talk to him. She determinedly ignored the bloodied meat he ate, and did not want to be there while he ate it.

Orik nodded to the two guards, and Eragon and Arya followed them. It was slightly odd to be twice as tall as the warriors that were guiding them. But as they left the nursery room, and the doors were closed and the wards redone, Eragon stopped.

"What?" Arya said impatiently. Eragon stared at her.

"I forgot; you're going to have to hide your face, you know."

Arya sighed.

--

The very centre of Tronjheim's ground floor was deserted. The ground the Urgals had burrowed through under Durza's command was smooth and uniform with the rest of the hall; above, when Arya looked up once or twice, she could see the hundreds of dark, various-shaped caves of the dragon hold. It was disconcertingly odd to look up towards the hole in the crater that was Farthen Dur, the bight circle of white daylight almost blinding after the gloom, and see the space where the great jewel had once hung.

Saphira had not come; she was tired, and Eridor and her were eating together. Arya had the distinct impression they merely wanted to be on their own.

This made her strangely uneasy; the reason for this, she told herself, was because she had grown used to be being Eridor's favourite confidant, and was not quite happy with him spending so much time talking to Saphira in such an intimate way.

And another, quite unrelated part of her, said it was because, if Saphira and Eridor spent their time together, she and Eragon would be spending their time together; without their respective dragons.

When this discomfiting thought came to her, she would immediately become ridiculously aware that Eragon was close by. Walking around the thick, cast-iron casket that contained the broken gem, and passing her occasionally.

She had nothing to do. She was not even sure what Eragon was doing. She stood by the gem and stared at the red, shifting depths; it was a little like, she thought, the few exotic fruits that grew in Ellesmera. Some said they had been brought across the sea from Alalea.

"_Little rubies, Arya; you must only eat the ruby-red ones, remember.__"_

Islanzadi had liked the exotic fruits. She had fed Arya, sitting on her lap at the age of six or seven, with mango and jumboo, and durian when it caught her fancy; and of all those wonderful, bewilderingly different fruits, both her favourite and her mother's had been pomegranate.

"_No, the pith is bad. Here, let me take it off for you __…"_

Arya smiled, leaning against the cold iron and staring at the shifting depths of the broken jewel. It had been a very pleasant time, that. She had been small enough to still be cuddled and kissed and passed between her parents and relatives, but old enough to not need her wet nurse. Only a year before her father had died … months, even …

Islanzadi's temper had been so much sweeter; there had always been time for Arya. While her father took Council, there had been walks and games; and even in the Throne Room, Arya had stared at the nobles, with whom she had been well-acquainted even then, and been allowed to hear the important things that happened there.

Her father had stood by the Throne; his voice was always calm, and his movements precise. Even when he sat with the greatest elves in all of the land, he had not been different. Prouder, stronger, fairer; not that she had noticed at that very young age.

So, she did have good, happy memories of her parents together. Before the Fall life had been as good to her as anyone else; and more besides. Arya rarely thought of those few years she had had with her father and mother together. But now that she did, she found that they were not as bitter as she had thought they would be.

After all, her mother had been happy; _she_ had been happy, and her father had been alive. Arya felt suddenly that she was fortunate - in a sad, twisted way - to have known her father.

Eragon was standing close by. Arya turned her head to look at him, and thought of his sad face as he spoke of his mother. He had never known her, never known her voice or touch or known her face. She, at least, could remember her father kissing her goodnight in her crib. She could remember his brown eyes and long hair.

And her mother still lived …

Arya stared at Eragon with new sympathy. Of course, he had had a happy childhood, really, with surrogate parents who loved him; and he had a brother. And Brom had been living in the same village. Brom, his father …

"What are you staring at?" Eragon asked, a laugh in his voice. Arya frowned at him from the depths of her borrowed hood and cloak.

"Don't be so loud! You're the one who wanted me hidden, remember?"

"It doesn't mean we can't talk," he replied glibly. "Although you don't look much like a human, even in that."

'_That_' was a cloak and hood unearthed from some unknown part of Tronjheim. It was dark green, Arya rather suspected, but through all the weather stains it was hard to tell. Goodness knows where Orik's guards had found it, but it _was_ clean, and long enough to hide her completely. The hood was so voluminous that Arya could not see upwards with out lifting it carefully up.

"Why not?" she asked, rather surprised. She had not spoken to anyone; no one had seen her eyes or face, and her ears were safely hidden in the hood. But to her surprise, Eragon's own ears turned red.

"Just the way you walk," he said, and looked away, flushing. Arya was suddenly very glad her hood was so deep; she could feel her own face heating up, too.

"How are you going to fix it?" she asked hastily, to cover this awkward moment. Eragon looked relived that she had changed the subject.

"I don't know … I don't think _I _can do anything much except boost Saphira's strength … if I have to." This she took to mean that he was prepared to use power from the Vault of Souls to help Saphira.

"It seems impossible," she said, staring down at the jagged cracks in the huge jewel. It glowed strangely in the half-light. Eragon nodded, looking vaguely troubled.

"I know. But don't let Saphira hear you say that," he added with a sudden grin.

"She's too busy with Eridor to listen in on us," Arya said, smiling although Eragon couldn't see it underneath her drooping hood.

"It almost seems a shame to disturb them," Eragon agreed; "but I'm hungry. Are you? The guards took us some fresh food along with the meat."

Arya found she was now hungry, and they began the arduous walk back to the Circle where their makeshift quarters were. The resident dwarves were starting to be up and about now, and they stared at Eragon and his silent companion who walked so smoothly and said nothing to anyone. Whatever fearful impression this left on the more delicate of the dwarves, Arya only felt like an unmitigated fool.

--

In the guard rooms, Saphira and Eridor were sitting in their chosen corner, eating massive sides of meat and did not seem too overwhelmed by Eragon and Arya's return. Eridor said hello, Saphira asked about the Star Rose - which she needn't have done, for Eragon would have let her have all the memories if she'd wanted them - and the two dragons settled back down again.

Arya felt awkward. Partly because Eragon seemed to be; partly because she was remembering that strange, tense meeting they had had the night before.

Now she heartily wished that Eridor and Saphira were in a more sociable mood. Poor Eragon, that he cared for her -

But he didn't really … as a friend … and a Rider … a comrade in difficult times. After that fateful night of the Agaeti Blodrhen, he had dealt and done away with his feelings … it had been a childish thing, obviously.

Obviously, or he would still love her in the way he said he had.

How was she to know he didn't?

Arya shot a startled glance at Eragon, who was sitting against the walls, his food largely uneaten; there was a slight frown furrowing his brow. How _did _she know he not feel for her any more?

Oh, but she would have noticed if it had been real, true, enduring love. And even if it had been, and he still felt it, there was no way, she was sure, that Eragon could not have hidden his feelings so long and so well.

_Then why does he get so flustered every now and again when he is with me? _

This thought occurred to her as she drank from the stone jug filled with icy water that had also been brought up. She almost choked on it. Eragon awoke from his frowning reverie and looked at her.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes, fine," said Arya quickly. She watched him as he turned away, wanting to see if there was any indication of any unusual emotion towards her. No, there wasn't; he didn't stare at her, or seem uncomfortable in her presence. And it was very pretentious of her to think there would be.

--

Saphira had eaten, and afterwards spent a long half hour with Eridor talking and idling the time away. Arya was pleased, glad that their small argument had been resolved; and that Saphira cared so much for Eridor. But Saphira decided after a while that she herself should probably go and see the Star Rose.

Eridor was quite calm, and did not seem at all disappointed. He had a look about him that he had never had in Ellesmera, of quiet pride; and he had a poise that it was hard to shake. Arya hoped, for a reason that was obscure even to her, that Saphira had noticed it, too.

Eragon had looked in two minds of whether to go with her or stay with Arya; Arya saved him making the decision by saying that she was going to go down into the salt-water caves below the city and bathe.

She had watched him, feeling foolish but determined, as she had said this. He had not blushed, or gone red about the ears; he had not been at all disconcerted, and had merely nodded and mentioned something about going later on himself, because he was still really quite dirty. Arya was quite assured, then, that she had been right: his supposed love had faded, and they were, as they always said, merely good friends.

What surprised her, was that she was not sure how she felt about this. Certainly it was what she had wanted; but tingeing her peace of mind about the matter was a tiny, almost-ignored bit of disappointment …

Eragon did not bother to use the saddle, and he and Saphira were soon gone. Arya thought they wanted to be together alone for a while; and in any case, Eridor could not wear the saddle he had worn to fly to Tronjheim; Eragon had been insistent on it, and Arya had readily agreed. There was a horror, plain in her mind, of Eridor weakened and crippled because of the ill-fitted saddle.

She gathered her things - a thick cotton towel embroidered again with that infernal raven, a hairbrush and a change of clothes. She had a vague idea that if she did not start paying attention to her hair, she would have to cut it all off to make up for the tangles.

The salt-water natural pools of Tronjheim that served as baths had always been, as far as Arya was concerned, one of the city's few redeeming aspects. That you could swim and bathe underground in perfectly fresh, clean pools of warm temperature was quite wonderful, and she had always made full use of this luxury.

She found one that was not in use, and undressed; though Eragon has washed in his dilapidated stone room with saddle soap and cold water, she had refused to, meaning to come here the very next morning. She was conscious of the fact that there was still dried blood and grains of desert sand in her hair.

It was very good to duck under the water and pull at her hair until loosened, and to wash away the blood and mud at long last. The dwarves kept all the bathing caves well-supplied with soap and the smelly oils they used on their long beards. Arya washed herself thoroughly, and battled with her hair until it lay smooth on her back. She was determined not to go back to Ellesmera shorn like a sheep.

_Are you nearly finished? _Eridor asked. Arya wiped her eyes and blinked in the warm darkness.

_I suppose so. Why?_

_Eragon and Saphira have just come back. _

_How was their visit to the Star Rose? _Arya asked, not at first putting these things together. Eridor sighed.

_The dwarves seem to think Saphira can just say a word and that jewel will be completed. _He sounded irritated. _Don__'__t they know how our magic works? I mean __…__ even we don__'__t know .. It is not controlled by words, and we can__'__t decide coolly what to do. I wish they would not put so much pressure on her. She seems miserable. She doesn__'__t want to break her promise._

_Dwarves have always been rather thick-headed when it comes to dragons. You were natural enemies once, you know._

_That, _Eridor said calmly, _was thousands of years ago. And besides, I haven__'__t even met _one_ yet! Not even spoken to one of those guards who met us at the gates._

_You will one day, _Arya assured him. _Orik wants to meet you. He will come here to see you when he can. _

_Excellent. But in the meantime, I think Eragon is coming to see _you.

_What?! _Arya exclaimed, shooting out of the water so that it splashed onto the rocky pool edge.

_He says he__'__s tired of smelling of saddle soap and he__'__s got Fanghur blood in his hair still._

_Oh, how lovely, _Arya said sarcastically, scrambling out of the pool, and drying herself hurriedly._ Are you enjoying this - or something? _she added. Eridor, had been able to, would have raised an eyebrow.

_I felt your thoughts while we were eating, _he said pointedly. _Are you sure he doesn__'__t love you?_

_What? _Arya dropped her clean tunic through her suddenly immobile fingers. _No. No, he doesn__'__t, Eridor. I __…__ Oh, no, it__'__s impossible! It is._

_How is that? _he enquired. If Arya had not been so thoroughly wrung-out by his sudden questions, she would have been irritated by the detached tone of his voice.

_Eragon cannot hide his feelings at all well. You have seen him in Tialdari Hall, where he lets the nobles see what he thinks of them - he tells them so. If he could hide his feelings he would not do that. Therefore, he must have no feelings for me to hide._

Rather satisfied with the way she had laid out her logical answers, Arya pulled her hair out the neck of tunic, splattering the wall with water.

_But maybe, _said Eridor, _he shows the feelings he think will be useful in Tialdari Hall - frustration and exasperation; and he shows the Lords and Ladies that he believes in what he is talking about, so he shows passion. How do you know he doesn__'__t show what he wants to?_

Arya paused, hands clenching on her hairbrush. _What are you trying to tell me, Eridor?_

_Nothing. I__'__m going to _tell_ you anything. I am just _suggesting_ - _he said this very carefully - _that you should not so easily dismiss the idea._

_Idea of what? _Arya replied stubbornly.

_The idea - no, that is a bad word- the proposition that Eragon has feelings that far exceed friendship for you. - He could, you know._

_What makes you say that? _Arya said, her hands suddenly icy cold, despite the humid conditions of the bathing cave.

_Just a feeling __…__ I sometimes think __…__ when you are with him __…__ and no one else __…__ the way you behave together __…_Eridor was almost impossible to disconcert, or shake up, as Eragon would have said, but he was clearly treading carefully now. _You behave as more than friends __…__ at least, that is what I have thought, quite often. _

_What else would we behave as? _said Arya brusquely. _We are the last Riders in existence, us four. Of course it is something different from normal friendship._

_You mean, because there is a great chance of us all dying together and fighting in vain, friendship is different? _Eridor appeared to give this much thought. _Maybe. I suppose it might be like that. _The way in which he calmly said this was terrible. _But Eragon once said he loved you __…__ didn__'__t he?_

_Youthful infatuation. That is all it was,_ said Arya stiffly. _I told him to forget it; and after a while, he did._

_When? _

_How do you mean, when? _Arya cried exasperatedly. _How can you expect me to put an exact tag on the moment he forgot his infatuation?_

_You said it was easy to see his emotions. You said he couldn__'__t hide them._

_Yes, I did, but __…_Sometimes Eridor was almost too quick with his tongue. _What do you want me to say, then?_

_I don__'__t want you to say anything. Just listen to me. I think that when you thought Eragon__'__s love for you had died, it was only because he had learnt to hide his feelings, from you and from whoever he wanted. Just because he can, doesn__'__t mean he always does, hence your impression that he could not suppress them. He__'__s not an elf, Arya._

_And well I know it, _she said sharply. She new that she was always conscious of the fact that Eragon was not an elf; that he was something else entirely. What that something was, she was not sure.

_And you wouldn__'__t feel for him the way you do if he was, would you? He wouldn__'__t be Eragon if he was __…__ Saphira wouldn__'__t be Saphira __…__ It is because he is something else that you get along._

_All right. _Arya sat down heavily on a stone outcropping. _You seem to know my feelings better than I do. How do I feel about Eragon?_

_We know each other__'__s minds equally well, Arya __…__ but in matters of the heart even the wisest of people are liable to be confused._

_Oh, now it is my heart. Explain to me my heart, then. _Her voice was heavy with irony, but she was sad as well. She had never, never felt this confused.

_You are great friends, of course. You get along so well __…_Eridor paused, and Arya remembered their few peaceful hours in Ellesmera, walking through quiet meadows, or sitting halfway up the Menoa tree with the dragons, talking. _And the more you get along, the more there are awkward pauses, like last night. That is strange, isn__'__t it, that you get along better each day, and yet the difference between you gets wider?_

Arya was silent.

_But you can__'__t understand the rift. It isn__'__t because you have fallen out of company. It isn__'__t because you disagree on something, or any other of the various things that happen between friends. In fact, you like his company better than any elf__'__s. When Saphira and I are hunting, or flying together, you do not seek out anyone, and only have company when it is him._

Arya closed her eyes.

_You know about his life; he knows much of yours. You know that he likes nothing sweet in the tea you are perpetually giving him. He knows that blackberry is your favourite. When you spar, you are so used to the other__'__s style, that you must learn new tricks to make any duel exciting. It seems an intense friendship, to me._

_Oh, __**Eridor**__…_Arya pressed her hand to her eyes. Eridor had voiced her recent feelings exactly. It was as if he simply pulled them fully-formed from her soul. She should not have been so astounded by the bond they had; but she was, a little. _There has never been any one like you. Ever. You read my feelings when I did not know them myself. I __…_

She trailed off, gathering herself together. There was a long pause between them. Eridor sent a warm, homely feeling to her, the best he could do without actually touching her.

_I am sorry, my very small elf. Sorry that you have so much pain in your heart._

_It isn__'__t pain, _Arya protested weakly. _Not heart-pain - not for Eragon!_

_It is pain for someone, my elf. It is not for me, of course. And not for Saphira, for she really is a good comrade. It is Eragon who confuses you, and whom you cannot place in your heart._

Arya stood up suddenly and grazed her head on the ceiling. _I__'__m coming back now, _she said hurriedly, and pulled her travel-stained cloak around her shoulders, then she arranged the hood so that her face was hidden deeply in it. Her hair she tied away from her face.

She was shaken by Eridor's words, unsettled by the ideas they represented, and scared in case she had been wrong. She exited the bathing cave swiftly, cloak billowing; and as she walked along the corridor that led to the rest of the city, she felt Eragon's mind approaching.

Oh, not now. He would know something was wrong if he looked at her; he always could. As he approached, Arya kept her face down, and even when she bumped against his arm, did not look up.

"Arya, I -"

She brushed him off, turning away so he would not catch even a glimpse of her face, and carried on at an even greater pace. To her relief, Eragon did not follow. But she could feel his eyes on her as she walked on and out of the long, low corridor.

She was not an ambassador and Princess for nothing. She walked all the way back to her chambers. The dwarves that saw her looked away; the ones that tried to look at her, she glared at from under hood; they soon turned and ran away. She only ran when she reached the guard rooms, straight into Eridor and under his wings, where she remained, even when Eragon returned, and Saphira settled down to sleep.

And when she slept, it was a confused and muddled network of living dreams, of Eragon and of Eridor talking to her; sometimes Eragon in peaceful corners of Ellesmera; sometimes Eridor in the middle of the Hardarac Desert. She did not know their words; but she tossed and turned and frowned in her sleep.

And in Eragon's room, he lay with his head in his arms, miserable and tired, though not exactly physically. Saphira knew this, and Eridor understood it when she told him. Eridor knew how Arya's dreams were sad and troublesome, and Saphira understood.

Neither dragon slept till long after their Riders were asleep.

--

The thin membrane of Eridor's wings did not exactly block light, only diluted it; but it was the middle of the night, and Arya was sleeping badly. A flash of bright, flickering blue light flared across her closed eyelids and through Eridor's wings. He started awake at the same time as she did.

_What was it? _she said thickly, batting her way out of Eridor's wings. Her eyes were heavy.

_Magic. Must be Eragon __…_

Arya found her way out and stood by his sides. _Eragon?_

_His colour, wasn__'__t it?_

_I didn__'__t see it properly. But where is he? _Arya folded her arms because it was quite cold, and stared into the gloom. Surely if Eragon had used magic she would be able to see him. She looked towards the door to his own little stone room, but couldn't see it at all.

_What -? _Saphira was blocking it. As Arya became less sleepy, she could dimly see Saphira's massive silhouette against the high walls. She seemed to have her nose right inside Eragon's room.

A thrill of foreboding ran down Arya's spine. What had happened that alarmed Saphira so much that she had barrelled straight into his room? Saphira, Arya thought ruefully, thinking of her forlorn, ruined house in Ellesmera, only did something so drastic when there was great need.

_Let__'__s go, Eridor._

_You go. She will want space, I think __…_

_All right. _Arya patted him on the shoulder quickly, and made her way to Saphira, walking quickly, but carefully. There were quite a few pot holes, she knew, and the odd discarded axe. The stone was cold on her bare feet, and she was only wearing a thin, cotton shift that was made for modesty not warmth.

She approached Saphira's flank carefully; it was very foolish to try and surprise a dragon. She made a loop around her head; Saphira's nose was thrust through the tiny doorway, and around the edges a blue light glowed: so it was Eragon's magic.

A spark of panic leapt in her throat. The iron-studded wooden door was lying shattered and broken on the floor. Arya hesitated for a moment; but before she could say anything to Saphira, she had withdrawn her nose from the door and put it on Arya's back instead, after one cursory glance at her.

_Yes - you, yes, go in, quickly. _And she shoved Arya forward with a neat movement into Eragon's room.

The light was stunning for a moment after the gloomy heights of the outside chamber. But Arya's eyes adjusted very soon, and she stared around.

"Eragon?"

He leapt up.

"What are you doing here? I thought I hadn't woken you!"

Arya surveyed him sharply, ignoring the impoliteness of his outburst. He was not wearing a shirt, and beads of sweat rolled down his back and chest; his hair stuck up on end, and she could see his hands twitching spasmodically at his side. His eyes were wide.

"What has happened?" she asked quietly but intensely. He ran a hand through his spiky hair so that it looked even wilder than before.

"Nothing. Nothing at all."

Arya glared. "Say that in the Ancient Language, then! I do not think you will be able to."

"Nothing," Eragon repeated, this time in her language, "has happened."

That meant nothing, Arya was sure. There was generally always some way of speaking in the Ancient Language but skirting the truth. Eragon must be adept at it by now. "So what is wrong with you, then?"

Eragon stared at her, then away and started to turn away, from wall to wall; it was as if he did not know what to do with himself. "I'm fine," he said eventually; his voice was raspy and he sounded tired. Arya felt herself softening.

"You can't be really, Eragon," she said a little more kindly. Eragon made a funny noise in the back of his throat, and then sat back down on his stone bed with a bump. He looked almost deranged.

"It's the bloody Vault of Souls," he said finally, and dropped his head into his hands, muttering curses he generally didn't. A cold, throttling hand seemed to close on Arya's hand.

"What did you see?" she asked in a choked voice.

"My brother."

"Roran …?"

"No. No, not him …"

Somehow, Arya knew it was not Orik he was talking about either. Knew by his tortured, sweating face.

"But he's not your brother. He _never_ has been."

Now she was alarmed, really and truly. Eragon never talked about _him, _unless it was to curse Galbatorix. He never alluded to _him_ as his blood-brother; to Eragon, Orik was more his brother than _him. _Arya had thought that he had excepted the way the fourth Rider had decided to go.

"But he was my mother's son. My mother's _legitimate_ son."

"Who cares for those marriage vows?" Arya said sharply. "Words are nothing in love." But Eragon did not look up. Saphira rumbled unhappily. Arya was so sorry for him; she sat down by his side without thinking, and touched his arm for a moment. And whether it was her imagination or not, it seemed Eragon leaned in to her touch.

"Because she had me … she died … she couldn't stay with him."

"If your mother had not loved Brom - had you not been born - there would no hope for the Varden. You counteract him. You fight for us … you have saved us, Eragon. The elves, the dwarves … the dragons …"

"Maybe so." Eragon dropped his hands. "But I am so sorry for him."

"Murtagh chose his own path. Now he will follow it, and you yours." Her upper arms touched his, and she could feel the heat of his skin through the cotton.

"In some ways, perhaps. But just imagine -" Eragon turned to look at her, and she met his gaze clearly. "- Imagine your dragon had just hatched for you. And you loved it, more than anything else. Even though it's only a few days old - hours, even - you cannot imagine life without it.

"And the only way," Eragon swallowed and closed his eyes, "the only way to stay with your dragon is to join Galbatorix. If you refuse, then you will die … along with your tiny, new dragon. I don't think I would refuse to give my dragon the chance to live. I think … in Murtagh's cursed place … any life with my dragon … would be better than dying a martyr."

Arya squeezed Eragon's hot arm without noticing. She could imagine that situation; a living nightmare, torture of the worse kind …

"What did you see tonight, Eragon?" she asked softly, voice so low it was almost a whisper. Too well could she vividly see Durza's pale face and stony breath on the awful night before she had learned about the Vault of Souls herself.

"Parts of Murtagh's life … I saw him crying as a child … I saw him escaping the castle and his servant Tornac dying … I saw him at my mother's funeral. I saw Morzan beating him … beating him, just a tiny, tiny child!"

Arya felt sickened; sickened by these horrific memories, and so sorry for Eragon, and the way his kindly soul was afflicted by them. This time she deliberately caught his hand and held it with her own cold hand. Eragon seemed grateful for this contact; he squeezed back.

Arya sat by his side, hoping that she was comforting him, because she knew there was nothing she could say. She stared at the floor, then to her and Eragon's intertwined hands; then to his other that lay clenched on his thigh. There was blood seeping through his fingers, running around his nails, through his fist and staining his leggings.

"Eragon, what …" Arya touched his fist with her other hands, and he stared at it, surprised, as if only just noticing. He opened it up slowly. Arya clenched her jaw.

There were four half-moon shaped cuts on Eragon's palm, bleeding slowly; and the blood hand been spread across his entire palm. He must have clenched it so tightly that his nails had broken the skin. Arya opened his hand out flat, gently and without saying a thing, and healed them with one murmured word. Eragon watched them disappear, his expression oddly blank.

Arya sighed. Eragon opened his and shut his hand a few times, then turned to look at her. Arya thought he looked a little better.

"Thank you. I … I didn't notice."

"It's all right." Arya still held his hand; and she had no desire at all to let go. "Don't think about it."

Eragon squeezed her hand back, and Arya smiled a small smile at him, though he did not see. They sat together in silence for a long while; and outside the sky turned blue, then the wispy clouds appeared, tinged a vivid pink, and only their edges were white; and soon another day had come, and the sun had risen as always. But Eragon and Arya were oblivious: they were asleep.

--

I didn't actually say _where_ they were asleep … just they _were_ asleep … I haven't worked that bit out yet … Please don't ask me!


	51. Nanye The Messenger

lol - four days later, and I'm back! the car won't start, and the guys from Mantles round the corner came and towed it away, bless 'em! Of course mum's in a frenzy. I wish I was a cat. Eat, sleep, and eat again. Simple!

Thank-you so much to all the reviewers! I read them, and smiled at them, and blushed a fair bit too. Thanks, people!

Chapter Fifty One.

Nanyé the Messenger.

The yellow sun rose higher and higher outside the volcanic crater of Farthen Dur. It cast into shadow the huge boulders and spiky pines that lived on the slopes; and inside the city, the city started to wake. Soon dwarves were bustling here and there, rejoicing over the birth of their new Prince; and the recovery of his mother. But in the old, deserted guard rooms, Eragon and Arya could not have been more unaware of this. They were fast asleep, and their dragons too well-meaning to wake them.

_She didn__'__t even bother with blankets, _Eridor said to Saphira. He had deliberately curved his wings so that Arya could sleep on them and under them, but after hours in this position was rather tired. _And it is so cold. _

_She was so kind to Eragon. I never, never thought I__'__d see the day __…_Saphira trailed off; she did not want to discomfit Eridor.

_Ever what? See the day Arya and Eragon sat together holding hands? No, nor did I. _

Saphira chuckled reluctantly. _How does Arya manage you, if you are so sharp all the time? Yes, that is what I meant __…__ in essence._

_She meant to do it. _Eridor paused, gazing around at the dark cavern.

_Meant to what? _

_Hold his hand. Comfort him. _

_I suppose she will ignore the fact it ever happened tomorrow - and don__'__t you dare contradict me, Eridor! I will say what I think. What I know, in fact. Hasn__'__t it happened often enough?_

_Maybe. _Eridor eyed Saphira; the battered down door of Eragon's room lay between them, and Eragon was asleep in the darkness inside. _But, if I were you __…__ I would not mention it either._

_Well, why not?_

_I want to speak to her when she wakes up. She won__'__t unless she thinks _you've_ forgotten it._

_Well, my Lord, _Saphira said mockingly, _I will of course do as you say. Although I can__'__t speak for Eragon._

Eridor grunted. Saphira was silent and waited for him to speak again; she stared at him carefully as she waited. He did not notice. Sometimes, he was a mirror image of Arya. _I suppose, _he said eventually, _I shall have to stay in here all day today as well?_

_Oh __…_Saphira snorted. _Perhaps __…__ when it gets dark __…__ you can fly at the top of the crater, around the dragon hold. It is unfair for you to be cooped up here, when we can roam around._

_Good. I have never eaten such fine food and done so little exercise._

_Luxury of staying in Tronjheim, _Saphira said wisely. _You__'__ll get used to it._

_Will we have time, though? We should go back to Ellesmera __…__ see what has happened __…_

_What do you think will have happened? _

_Oh, nothing in Ellesmera - very little happens in Ellesmera. But perhaps __…__ there will be news from the Varden - or Arya__'__s mother in Gil__'__ead._

_News or not, soon we will have to go back to the Varden, I think. Eragon and I, we worry about that. What will you and Arya do? I don__'__t __…_Saphira stopped. _It will be terrible for you, _she began again. _You are still not very old, and you will be plunged straight into battle. _

_Older than you were in your first combat, I__'__d wager, _Eridor said stoutly. _If we must do it, then Arya and I will do it. We can do anything we decide to._

_I__'__ll bet you can, _Saphira said, and sighed. She loved Eridor second only to Eragon; and she hated the thought of his bright scales and sharp eyes covered by the filth of battle. She wished she was in a position to make him stay away.

_Eridor __…__ how old are you, exactly?_

_If you don__'__t know, __**I **__don__'__t,_ said Eridor absently. _It__'__s hard to remember to sets of months in two sets of languages. I can only just manage to count up to fifty._

_Cheeky! _Saphira exclaimed. _If that__'__s what being the only male of your race does to you, I don__'__t think we__'__ll be associating with you, Eridor Swiftwing. Or do you prefer Eridor Long-Tooth?_

_Be quiet, _Eridor grunted. Saphira had picked up on Arya's favourite method of teasing him, and used to it to great effect when she wanted to.

_Just remember who is full grown, and who can breath fire, _she said laughingly, _and who is your _Ebrithil_._

_My apologies, Ebrithil, _Eridor said darkly, but decidedly with his tongue in his cheek. _You don__'__t know how old I am, either!_

_Five months __…__ and a bit_, she replied smugly, then sobered. _Old enough to breathe fire __…__ considered fully grown __…__ old enough to mate. _And she coughed a little. But Eridor's expression did not change at all. His long, arduous journey, Saphira thought, had changed him a little; he had something of Glaedr about him, in his placid outlook and unshakeable poise.

_But I can__'__t breathe fire, _he said, his voice level. _And it is not something that can be taught._

_Wait for the right moment __…__ it will come in its own time. _

_But in the meantime, everybody else is rushing along regardless. What if you are called away to battle? I __…__ will we come with you?_

_I don__'__t know. _Saphira felt a wave of hopelessness, an unfamiliar feeling, crash over her. _I don__'__t know anything, Eridor! We have heard so little from anybody, that we can only guess at where the Varden are - and how the elves in Gil__'__ead are._

_Do not worry over it too much __…_Eridor hesitated, and looked at her from the corner of his eye, in two minds of what to say. _What will be, will be._

Saphira turned her long neck to look at him. Some feeling he could not understand glimmered in her beautiful eyes. _You are a very wise dragon, Eridor. I am glad you are with us, you and Arya._

Eridor blinked; and Saphira looked away; a moment later, there was silence. Eridor was almost sitting on his own wing in his effort to give Arya a mattress and a pillow, and the shooting, stabbing pains that were running up his wings were quite new to him. He shifted a little, and then said to distract himself:

_What did you think of the jewel?_

_Isidar Mithrim? _Saphira replied after a second. _Well, it is very odd. I stared at it for a long while remembering what it had been like, and how Eragon and I had recovered after our flight from the Urgals there __…__ I could feel something, you know. An aching inside me __…__ much as I felt when I stood before Brom__'__s grave. I have the need to fix it, to do something - and I have the will. _

_Where there__'__s a will, there is a way, _Eridor interjected, half-humorously, half-seriously.

_Well, quite. I have been nerving myself all night for it. I suppose we will have to do it today._

'_It__'__ being what? _Eridor asked. Saphira chuckled down in her throat, where it sounded as deep as his own voice was normally.

_Whatever happens when I touch it. _

_Sounds like a very thorough and well-though out plan to me, _said Eridor cheerfully. Saphira ignored him. _Oh, good morning, _he added.

Arya had just started to stir. She battered her way out of Eridor's poor numb wings and sat half covered by them and half not.

"What is the time?"

_A considerable time after sunrise, _Eridor replied, nosing her gently.

"Why didn't you wake me?" she asked, looking as severe as she could when she was still so sleepy. Saphira smiled to herself.

_Good morning to you, too, _replied Eridor, slightly disgruntled. _Will you please get dressed now?_

"Why? I'm fine as I am, thank you." This despite she was wearing the same short, thin shift as she had while sitting with Eragon earlier that night. Saphira thought she was probably just saying anything to conceal her sleepiness.

_You__'__re grumpy, that__'__s what, _he said. _And I can__'__t feel my wings!_

"Oh … sorry." She pulled herself out of his cramped wings and stood up on the stone floor. "Hello, Saphira."

_Good morning, Arya, _said Saphira good-naturedly. _Sleep well?_

"Yes, quite well." Saphira could see a faint pink flush on her cheeks, and pretended not to have noticed. "And you?"

_Oh, fine. Although you and Eragon have been asleep for a long time __…__ past ten it is, now._

"Is Eragon not up?" Arya said, glancing at his doorway no longer with a door.

_No. So you really should get dressed soon._

_All right, I__'__m going, _she said to Eridor only, folding her arms against the chill. _Flap your wings a bit and the pins and needles will go. _

_I__'__ll do that._

Arya nodded, stifled a yawn behind her hand, and started off towards her own room. Saphira watched her go; it always interested her to see Arya when she was fully awake and sharp as ever, as opposed to when she was sleepy and not half so with-it. She was really quite amusing when she lost her reserve. Saphira was sure it would be good to talk to her during this time of day.

_The first time I saw a human, I was very surprised at how they all differed. I thought them all really quite ugly, you know. Apart from Eragon, of course. But Arya really is quite pretty, as far humans and elves go._

_Yes, she is, _said Eridor simply_. But I suppose that is not the reason Eragon loves her._

_Eridor! What makes you say that? _Saphira said sharply.

_Eragon knows her so well __…__ knows that she is brave, and clever and honourable and many more things besides. He is not at all shallow._

_No, he is not, _she replied tartly_; And why would you think he loves her?_

_He said he did, once._

_What do you know that I do not, Eridor? _Saphira asked keenly. _Has Eragon said something to you?_

_No one has said anything to me; I have been talking to them. Namely, to Arya._

_Don__'__t tell me, then - whatever they feel for each other, they don__'__t speak of __…__ and neither will I._

I was not going to say anything more, Eridor replied, a trifle indignantly. He soon stayed quiet, though; Eragon emerged from his room, yawning even wider than Arya had.

"Hello, Saphira."

She grinned a draconian grin at him and licked his face, to tell him she had not forgotten his fright of the night before. Eridor observed this with not a little curiosity. Whereas he and Arya spoke good morning and teased each other from the moment they woke if they were so inclined, Eragon simply patted Saphira good morning, said something in the Common Tongue that he had been brought up with, and Saphira would grunt good morning too.

Today was an exception. If Eridor had known the phrase 'old married couple', he might have applied to them. Instead, he merely noticed and observed, with the greatest respect.

_It has come past ten, little one_, Saphira was saying. Eragon ran a hand through his hair.

"Sorry, but I was dead to the world. Erm … is Arya awake?" He looked faintly embarrassed, but Eridor ignored it.

She went to get dressed just a minute ago, he told Eragon, concentrating on shuffling the life back into his wings and not looking at Saphira's Rider.

"Oh … well …" He rubbed his chin, and turned around again. "I'm going to wash."

Saphira hummed, amused and, Eridor sensed, a little relieved that he seemed to be all right. _Now, I suppose we will have to make sure they talk to each other and don__'__t become so embarrassed that it is difficult to be in their company._

_I__'__m not sure I will dare to interfere, to be honest_, Eridor said, stretching his wings and lifting himself onto his back legs, moving freely for the first time since Arya had gone to sleep under his wings. As he landed back down on four legs, Arya had made her way back to them and was fully dressed. Her tunic was a dark green and her leggings black. Over her arm was the dreaded hood and cloak.

"Is Eragon -" she began. Saphira answered before she had finished.

_Yes, he is washing now, I believe __…_

"Saphira, the leather -"

Eragon appeared, face washed and tinged with the iciness of it, and wearing clean clothes, stopped short as he saw Arya. She stared at him; Saphira and Eridor exchanged slightly amused looks and settled down to watch with well-practiced expectancy.

"Good morning," Eragon said quietly. He did not seem to know where to put his eyes; on Arya, on the wall, on the floor. She opened her mouth, closed it, and then said at last:

"Good morning."

It was not so much they were embarrassed, Eridor thought: only unsure of what, exactly, the other had meant last night. Eragon shifted his weight onto a different foot in the way he was wont to do when uncomfortable; and Arya did what she rarely resorted to, and tucked a strand of long black hair behind her ear. An extreme sign of nervousness. A billowing silence was starting to form like a brick wall between them.

Eridor and Saphira were just at the point of intervening and salvaging their respective Riders' dignity, when there was loud banging on the iron door that led to the outside tunnels. Instantly, there was a dagger in Arya's hand, and the unarmed Eragon had conjured a fizzing, crackling ball of blue light.

Saphira stood up, and on her word Eridor went to crouch in the shadows, just in case. Eragon and Arya had crossed the ante-chamber in a moment, and stood to one side of the door each.

"Who comes?"

"Eragon, you are more suspicious than a wolf in its den! Let me in!"

Eragon scowled, despite looking relieved, and opened the door, his magic fizzling out. Arya lowered her dagger a little.

"Orik, have you never heard of giving a warning? You could have been the Black Hand for all we knew!"

"The Black Hand does not go knocking on doors," Orik replied, tugging his beard and looking around at his gloomy surroundings. "Or is this an inconvenient time?"

"No," Eragon said hastily, glancing at Arya. "No, of course not … I suppose you've come to meet Eridor?"

"If he is not averse to it, then yes. Certainly I would like to meet him." Orik gave Arya a kindly look which quite disconcerted her. She blinked.

"Come over to our rooms, then …" She felt vaguely uneasy as she followed Eragon and Orik back to where Saphira was. Orik or not, he was still a King; and what on earth do you give a King in a mouldy, gloomy cave?

However, Orik marched across at Eragon's side, bowed to Saphira and exchanged a few words with her; it was impossible to tell if he was nervous. Arya waved her hand at Eridor's corner, and he uncurled himself; it was strangely sinister, to see first his ivory-white talons, then his scaled spine emerge into the light, like some great serpent. And then he was standing fully up; and he towered above Orik.

Orik eyed him, not exactly warily, but carefully, nonetheless. After a silent moment, he bent at his middle, and bowed in a precise, courtly way. Doubled over, he looked particularly diminutive.

"Greetings, great one."

Eridor turned his head one way and another to look at his visitor. _Hello_, he said after a moment.

"It is good to meet you at last. I have to come offer my thanks and gratitude as well as a debt unpaid to you, great one, as well as your Rider."

_For what?_

"For the great service you did in saving my wife … and my child. I do not think there are words in any language that can express how deeply grateful I am."

Eridor hummed meditatively, and cocked his head on one side to look at his visitor. _Of course I will accept your gratitude, King Orik, but you must understand that Arya and I were only the tools in a very long chain of events. I carried Arya here; she administered the cure. And besides __…__ if we wanted a reward, it is enough to know that we have helped to save one life and brought into the world another one. I hope I have spoken well. _

"You are very wise, Bjartskular." Orik bowed again. "But let it be known that if you are ever in any of provinces my people own, then you will be welcomed there as one of our own. And remember that there are those here who are grateful to you in their own rights. One day you will walk abroad here as heroes rather than hideaways."

_You are a very wise dwarf, _Eridor replied laughingly. _It has indeed been good to meet you, King Orik._

"And I return that sentiment full well." Orik's dark eyes twinkled. He turned to Saphira. "Saphira, whatever your plans concerning the Star Rose, I have volunteered to inform you that the last shard will be put in place at twelve noon today."

_Of course, Orik,_ Saphira said kindly. Eragon repeated her words_. If I could, I would gladly put your mind at ease, but I am afraid I am not sure what I will do. If I can do anything __…_

"But you will try?"

_Of course, _she said again. Orik nodded, and his beard wagged.

"Then what more could we ask?" he said rather more cheerfully. "I thank you kindly, Saphira."

_You are very welcome, Orik. _But to Eridor and Arya alike, she sounded strained.

"I must take my leave now," Orik was saying. "I came here without bodyguards, and I must call Council in an hour." He bowed to Eridor, who smiled, and laughed a little to himself. When Orik had said farewell thus to the other three, he made his way back down the stairs outside their rooms.

_He is nice, _said Eridor absently. Arya smiled.

_So you do not mind Kings and Queens outside of Ellesmera, then? _He did have an aversion to royalty that followed etiquette and protocol. But he had liked Orik, clearly.

_Fortunately for you._ He paused, and Arya sat down on his leg, not even bothering to continue further with the debate. _But I wish we could fly outside together._

_So do I. _Arya sighed, thinking of their first flight together; it had been miserable at times, and terrifying at others, but it had still been flying, her and Eridor in the skies together at last. And now they could no longer do it. "If we only had a saddle," she said aloud without meaning to.

"Ha!"

She looked up, surprised, in time to see Eragon darting inside his room; in a minute he was back again, and his arms were sheets of dark cow-hide leather.

"I forgot," he said, smiling. "I bought these for you in Ceunon."

He held them out for her to take, and Arya did, blinking. "For us?"

"For a saddle. I'm sure I can still remember how to do it," Eragon replied, opening his hand to show a thick, sharp needle and yarn that Arya recognised as used in Ellesmera for its strength and hardiness. "You will be flying with Eridor in no time."

Her heart quickened, even as Eridor blew puffs of smoke in gratitude. Partly because of the that wonderful promise of being in the air again, and of being one with Eridor, the wind in her hair and Eridor in transports of delight; partly because Eragon was smiling at her warmly.

She lifted her head and smiled back, as she took the needle and yarn from him.

--

Despite the way he had haggled for the leather sheets, and despite the uncouth type of the peddler, the leather _was_ very good. He and Arya had dark stains in their hands from the grease; and their fingers were sore from pushing the needle through the holes they had made.

At least he could remember how to make a saddle for a dragon; he had carefully planned and measured each bit, saving enough for the stirrups and arm straps. Arya had watched carefully, knowing she would one day have to do it herself.

Finally, after two hours of boring holes in the material, then passing the needle and yarn through, then backstitching and tying it off as well as cutting the leather, Eragon made the last hole in the left stirrup.

"Finished?" Arya said. Eragon knew her well enough to know she was excited. She hardly it showed it, though.

"Yes." He smiled, and slapped the smooth pommel of the saddle. "Finished."

Arya glanced at him, and then back to the saddle. Her eyes glowed. "You are very good with your hands, Eragon."

He laughed. "That is what Oromis said about Brom the first day we met him. Brom made Saphira's first saddle."

"Like father like son," she murmured; Eragon rubbed his chin, a little caught by surprise with this saying. He stared at Arya, as she examined the saddle in full, and as Eridor poked his head over her shoulder to see it for himself; his heart clutched helplessly. It was hard to be so close to her - and yet for her to be so irrevocably untouchable.

_Thank you, Eragon. Very much, _said Eridor gravely. Eragon smiled, because he was proud of Eridor in a way he did not care to explain. He was proud of how Eridor had grown, how strong and kind and clever he was. And he valued his friendship very, very highly.

_And you are very welcome, _he said promptly. Arya sighed, a little sigh that fluted through her parted lips.

"If only we could fly now."

"Perhaps you can." Eragon narrowed his eyes, considering. "If we go down to the Star Rose at noon, perhaps you and Eridor can hide in the caves in the dragon hold."

"But there is no floor," Arya said doubtfully.

"No, but if you choose the largest cave, then Eridor can fly straight in, and you can climb up the staples on the wall."

"But," Arya continued to protest, although he could tell she liked the idea very much, "what if someone sees us?"

_You can walk up the first few levels of Vol Turin, and once you get far enough above the city, you leap out and fly to the top. If anyone sees you, they will assume it was me._

"All right," Arya said at last. "We'll do that … When are you going down, then?" She glanced up, met Eragon's eyes and they both looked away.

"Noon … I don't know what the time is now. I'll go and see …" he left to go and check on the clock in the centre of the city, and Arya went to her room to wash the leather grease off her hands and face, and to collect her cloak and hood.

She was still mopping her face when Eragon returned and announced that it was twelve midday exactly and that a large crowd was already waiting by the gem. Saphira sighed a long, strained sigh.

--

At Kirtan, a fresh horse had been readied for him. He had taken a quick, frugal meal, and a mouthful of his precious supply of Faelnirv. From there, after learning that Princess Arya was away, in the dwarven city of Tronjheim, and so was Eragon Shadeslayer and Saphira Bjartskular, he had hurried on his new mount towards the Beor Mountains.

The elves at the Ceris outpost had offered him space on their rafts that frequently ran from Du Weldnvarden to the city of Tarnag. He gratefully accepted. It was by far the quickest way to travel. Four days later, he had emerged into the glittering, prosperous city of Tarnag. No one took the slightest notice of him. Soon he was on his way again, this time on foot, and joining a party of trading dwarves that were going to sell their wares in Tronjheim. He was accepted reluctantly, but they treated him well.

From the mouth of the tunnel, they said, it would be four more days to reach the city-mountain. Well, it would have to do. Nanyé the Messenger continued his journey.

--

The dwarves pressed around Eragon and Saphira in a wide circle; in the centre, stood the thick iron casket that held the Star Rose. Eragon and Saphira had watched, as five smiths had carefully manoeuvred the last shard of glass into place.

Though he could remember how flawless and perfectly-sculpted the gem had been, Eragon stared at the cracks in the collected fragments and found it hard to imagine it as one item again. This thought he suppressed; Saphira was standing close by, and she was strained enough as it was.

The smiths stepped back, and some liveried guards ushered all the silent, expectant dwarves backwards. Eragon was glad they had that amount of sense. Orik was watching from a safe distance surrounded by bodyguards; and up in the largest cave in the dragon hold, Eragon knew, Eridor and Arya were observing.

_I wish they wouldn__'__t stare, _Saphira said in a resigned way. She was used to crowds of delighting elves, at any rate. Eragon knew she wasn't too bothered by them. And he could feel in her mind, a fixation on the Star Rose. She thought of nothing else; and all other things were insignificant. That was how her magic worked; she wanted something, felt strongly enough for some cause, and she would then be able to do almost anything.

_Ready? _he asked eventually. Smoke coiled from Saphira's nostrils.

_Ready, little one._

--

Arya sat with her legs dangling over the edge of her and Eridor's chosen cave. The drop below her was dizzying at best, but all those leagues - and there were leagues - down on the surface, she could see the Star Rose glowing; Saphira was a glinting blue jewel by its side. She could not make out Eragon as anything but a shadow by her flank.

The dwarves watching seemed to find it a fun event; there was the air of a carnival or fairground on the below. But for Arya and Eridor, staring down at the milling crowds and Saphira, it was more like waiting for war to be announced. The suspense hung thick as a fog cloud between them.

Saphira's glittering scales shifted in the light. Arya saw her move forward and her long neck extended. She had touched her nose to the broken surface of the jewel.

The surrounding dwarves gasped and some cried out. Arya clutched Eridor's neck. Only a few seconds ago, the red of the Rose had been visible and so had Saphira; now a blue light suffused the space it had lain; its rays emerged from the place it had been; but everywhere was a white-blue gas, that whirled and moved and covered everything from sight.

And then it started to move.

--

Eragon gave an inarticulate yell of fright, and leapt forward, trying to get to Saphira; but when he finally touched her, he had to flinch back again; she had shocked him, and all that energy that was crackling around her had ran up his hand and into his arm. It felt as if his arms was numb.

_Saphira! __**Saphira! **_

The blue gases swirled around him, blotting out the dwarves, the cavernous walls of Tronjheim and Orik's balcony. He could not see Saphira, he could not touch her mind properly. She was closed off from him, utterly absorbed in what she was doing.

"_SAPHIRA_!"

But she was rising, floating slowly upwards, though her wings did not move and her eyes were closed. When he caught at her tail, she flicked him away as effortlessly as if he had been a child. When he tried again, that strange energy shocked him.

"NO!"

There was nothing he could do. She was floating away from him, eyes closed, nose still pressed to the Star Rose; and as she lifted upwards, so did the gem. The casket fell away. It merged in all its flawed glory, almost as majestic as it once been; and together connected by that blue light, wreathed in the fluorescent gases, they drifted steadily upwards into the great cavity that was Farthen Dur.

--

Arya stared in a state of petrified horror unknown to her ever before, as she watched first a blowing red light and then Saphira emerge from the mists of the previous moments. For a minute, she thought that Saphira was flying, and the gem was being towed behind. Next minute, she saw that Saphira was touching the Rose; and that Saphira's eyes were closed and her wings were folded along her body.

Eridor moaned. Arya leant still further over the edge of her cave. Eridor pulled her back like a protective mother hen.

_By the Heavens, what is she doing?! _Arya gasped, still caught by Eridor's teeth.

_I don__'__t know, I don__'__t know! Just wait!_

But even as he said this, the light around the jewel and Saphira lessened; her eyes fluttered open. And on the ground, Arya heard Eragon scream.

--

He had been about to fly himself up to Saphira, using ways he had learnt a long time ago, when he had felt it; a sudden drain on his energy; and at the same time, Saphira wakening to his frantic mind. Before he could talk to her, though, he felt her own mind drastically drained, with little thought of anything let alone the means to get more power left in it.

Then, with a dreadful certainty, he knew what was going to happen. And when it did, he yelled, more terrified than he had ever been in all his life.

--

Arya shrieked. Saphira was falling. As the jewel floated into place, shifting and moving as it reacquainted itself with its old home, that light had connected the two faded away. And then Saphira was falling.

Her wings fluttered helplessly open. Her eyes were wide with silent terror. Her neck snapped and flailed and her head flopped.

Eridor and Arya moved at the same time. At the same time they uttered the same words, their minds so tightly melded there was no difference between them, for their terror was so alike. Arya opened her mouth and spoke. Eridor roared it in his mind with all the might he had.

"_ATH SEM HUILDR!_"

The air around Saphira solidified. She stopped, barely a half-league away from the ground floor of Tronjheim. She twisted slowly and gently in mid-air, her wings rippling softly. Arya clenched her teeth with the effort of maintaining the magic; but strangely there was no lack of power in her. Every time she felt a little tired, she was filled up with more. In this way, she and Eridor manoeuvred Saphira down to ground level. And then the magic stopped.

They flopped backwards, panting, but not exactly tired. It was as if the power had simply been flowing through them rather than from them; and it had been utterly terrifying. Eridor peered over the edge, and sagged with relief.

_Look, _he said.

Arya crawled to his side and stared down as well. For a moment her sight went black; with a great effort, she focused on what had so surprised her.

The Star Rose was restored. Its ruby depths glimmered and shifted in the light; the figures underneath it were distorted. It was so, so odd to see that space that for months had simply been a drop to the city below now blocked again with the back of the gem. Its surface was as smooth as if it had been made yesterday.

And underneath it! Arya leaned against Eridor's side in undisguised relief. Saphira was visible as an orange, twisting shape through the glass. She moved. She was alive. Arya closed her eyes and put her shaking hands to her face.

--

Eragon stumbled to Saphira, put his arms about her neck, and his muscles trembled. She was alive, alive when he had been sure she would die …! She collapsed, shaking herself, and laid her head on the ground. Before either could say a word, she had fainted. And Eragon was so tightly caught to her at that moment that he could not stop himself losing consciousness, as well.

The last thing he saw, as he fought against but found he was too tired, was a glowing, shifting red light that danced above his darkening vision …

And now it was green. Much smaller, too. No, there were two. They were eyes. Eragon blinked, grimacing at the taste in his mouth and concentrated on the eyes.

"I thought you wouldn't be out for long," said someone.

"Arya -?"

"Water?"

She handed him a flask, which Eragon disregarded. "Where - where is Saphira? Is she -?"

"She's fine … just sleeping. Don't worry, I checked."

Eragon blinked again and sat up. He heard Arya sigh. He was lying on a small pallet on a few blankets in a bare little ante-chamber. He could hear the hum of the crowds outside. Arya was sitting on an upturned keg by his side. "Barzul! What happened?"

"We wanted _you_ to answer that," she replied. "Why did Saphira fall?"

Eragon felt his stomach lurch. The mere thought of her headlong descent from the dragon hold filled him with nausea. She had so nearly died … she, the other part of his very soul …

"Eragon!" Arya sounded alarmed. She shoved something under his nose and waved it about. Eragon coughed at its smell.

"What is _that_?"

"Dwarven smelling salts someone gave me. They seem to work."

"Yes, they do." The strong scents had certainly woken him up properly but now he could recall in perfect detail every horrifying moment of the last hour. He felt for Saphira's mind but found that she was, indeed, asleep. "Arya," he began, but she put a hand on his arm to stop him.

"Are you sure you feel all right? You look awful, and you haven't eaten much today."

"I tried not to," he said, pressing the palms of his hands to his eyes, "but Saphira was so exhausted, and her pull over my mind was so strong …"

"Don't worry about that," Arya said, and squeezed his arm for a moment before withdrawing her hand. "Take some of this, if you don't want water." She handed him a small brown flask. Eragon took it and swallowed some without a word, then started to cough.

"Arya! Where did you get whiskey from?!"

There was a suppressed smile on her face. "It's a very long story. Never mind. Feel better?"

"Yes, thank you." He got up off the pallet, and although the walls seemed to move, he could see Arya's face clearly. And now that he looked, she seemed a little pale. "Are you all right?"

"Me?" She stood up and corked the flask again. "Yes, I'm fine. Where are you going?"

"To see Saphira." But he waited until Arya had donned her cloak and pulled up her hood, and they walked out of the little ante-chamber together. And as the crowds set eyes on Eragon and his silent companion they stopped and stared; they all watched as Eragon approached the silent Saphira.

--

Nanyé was tired, and bored of dwarfish company. He had left them as soon as he had reached the city an hour ago, and now was making his slow way through the thronging crowds that surged up and down the stone streets.

He did not know where to find Princess Arya, nor Eragon Shadeslayer. But he was used to being in new and difficult situations; and he had been in Tronjheim before, over two hundred years ago.

At the centre, there was that jewel of theirs - their Star. It was there everybody seemed to be surging towards. Nanyé was close to the end of his mission.

--

Eragon stroked Saphira's head gently and lovingly. The dwarves stared. Orik leant over the edge of his balcony. Arya wished she could do as she had done in the chamber and stand by him; but she must not let the dwarves have any inkling that she was a friend of Eragon's; she was hoping they did not even know she was female. So she contented herself with glaring at ones who became too curious and came closer to Saphira.

"How come she didn't - fall?" Eragon asked. Arya sighed softly. She'd known Eragon would ask that sooner or later. She stepped closer to him so that nobody could hear her.

"We stopped her. I … we were so terrified, Eragon … we didn't think we had enough energy. But it just kept flowing through us, and it lasted until she reached the ground. I've never felt anything like it … never."

"You stopped her?" Eragon turned to look at Arya, but her hood worked its purpose: he could not see her face.

"Yes, but … but that power, Eragon. Was it the Vault of Souls? It was not natural."

"I expect so. Probably." His voice was strangled. Suddenly, he grabbed her hand and squeezed it, his skin warm on hers. Arya's breathing quickened. "You saved her. You saved Saphira."

"And Eridor." She could barely muster her poise enough to say that.

"I know. I … I can't say how much I …"

"Don't, then," she said softly. "Please … don't."

He opened his mouth to say something, but to Arya's did not. Then, after a moment, his hand curled tighter around hers. "Thank you."

And it said more, those two simple words, than a whole hour of flowery speechmaking. Arya's heart beat quicker, for no other reason than Eragon; and though this surprised her, she did not pull away as she once would have done. As if of their own accord, her fingers curled about his. And stood together by Saphira's side for a period that seemed timeless to Arya. It could have been a few minutes; or a whole hour until Saphira awoke.

But when she did, Eragon was simply too relieved to do more than stroke her head and long neck, and talk in snippets of various languages through their link in order to reassure her.

_Oh, little one. _Her jewel-bright eyes were wide open and she raised her head slowly, glancing about. _Little one - _

But she stopped, astonished. The surrounding dwarves had broken into explosive applause. It sounded as if a small volcano had erupted in the midst of the city. They slapped their hands on their knees and stamped their hob-nail boots on the stone floor. Saphira blinked.

_What? _she said dazedly.

Arya lifted her free hand and touched Saphira's side. "Look," she said, lifting her face to stare upwards. Eragon and Saphira followed suit.

_Oh! _said Saphira softly. Arya heard Eragon take in a small, sharp breath.

Miles and miles above them in the top of Farthen Dur, was a great red glow. It dazzled the three as they stared, and every facet shone as if hewn yesterday. The milky light that came from the open top filtered through and threw a bloody light on everyone. Arya's finger moved around Eragon's hand. The Star Rose shone again.

After that, there was mayhem. Saphira got to her feet - so suddenly that Arya knew Eragon had reached into the energy that he could access on demand, and leant it to her - and all the dwarves pressed close to the three, wanting to touch Eragon's hands and face, and bow to Saphira, and kiss the floor before her.

Orik had thanked them over and over, and blessed them; and thanked the Gods, too, for keeping Saphira safe and for allowing her to fulfil her promise to Hrothgar. And even when they tried to escape, the crowds followed them through the streets of Tronjheim. When they finally escaped them, Arya could hear them, not at all deterred, starting to organise a revelry that would probably last all night.

Still, they reached their accommodation at last, Saphira a little fatigued, but buoyed up with the endless energy of the Vault of Souls. As they walked, three abreast along the stone palisade that ended in their door, they saw dimly in the shadows someone standing close to the guard rooms. Someone who, clearly, was not a dwarf.

Arya reached for her dagger, Eragon for his hunting knife and Saphira instantly became sharp and tense. But as they continued warily along - Arya wanting to get to Eridor before the stranger did - he stopped, and marched to the centre of the walkway; and swept back his hood.

Arya froze. Eragon made a slight noise of surprise. For the visitor had long golden hair, and the perfect, feline features of an elf; his ears were as pointed as Arya's. He glanced from her, hooded but holding the glinting dagger, to Eragon, who doubtless looked no less friendly, and to Saphira. Then he bowed.

"Argetlam. I am Nanyé the Messenger."

"Whom do you serve?" Eragon asked sternly. His palm glowed faintly silver. Arya felt her own itching.

"I am liege-man of Dathedr of House Tarmunariie, First Advisor of Queen Islanzadi. I have important messages entrusted to me, to give to Eragon Shadeslayer."

Nanya the Messenger took from a satchel at his side a piece of thick paper. It was signed and sealed by green wax, and the writing was thick, written in the Liduen Kvaedhi. Eragon took it slowly. Arya did not wait for him to read it.

"Have you come from Gil'ead?" she asked, throwing back her hood as well. Nanya's pale face showed very little surprise.

"Princess Arya." He bowed again, hair swishing in the silence. "Yes, Highness, I have."

Arya wanted to ask how her mother was, how they were surviving in the castle of Gil'ead besieged by the Empire; but, looking at the Messenger's serene, cool face, she decided not to. She would not fall prey to politics again. Instead, she said:

"Did you come through Ellesmera, Nanyé?"

"Yes, your Highness. And there I acquired another letter. For you, Highness."

Arya held out a cold hand. "Let me have it." Her face was cool and calm and as emotionless as his. But it came harder to her now than it had once done.

Nanyé placed another, smaller and much plainer letter in her hand. Arya was surprised that it had no crest or insignia on it, and that the paper was thin and badly-made. If this was from Niduen - as she supposed it was - it seemed very poor fare for a member of the Royal family.

"From Niduen Silvrena to Princess Arya Drottningu."

Arya took it from him, and could not contain her flush of anger with him. "That is Lady Niduen to you, Messenger," she said swiftly. His smooth face showed no feeling at all. He merely bowed; but, Arya noticed, did not apologise. Her disliking rose higher. Quickly, before anything else could happen, she slit open Niduen's letter and began to read.

Her colour rose higher and higher as she read it. Finally, she lifted her eyes, and folded the letter back up, hands shaking. Nanyé stared back coolly.

"What do you know about this?" she asked, voice trembling with anger. That he could stand there and know that such injustice was being done …!

"Nothing, your Highness. As I said, I am merely a messenger. I do not involve myself in politics."

"_Politics_!" Arya said furiously, not even trying to hide her feelings any longer. "How can you call this - this _treason _politics?! My cousin -"

"Arya."

Arya had forgotten Eragon had had his own letter. His voice was so hollow that she broke off and turned to him, alarmed.

"What is it?" Her heart seemed to beat in the regions of her stomach, all of a sudden.

"It is from Gil'ead." His eyes flickered to Nanyé, and then to Arya. Their warm brown was obscured by another feeling that clouded them over completely. Arya's hand curled tightly around the dagger in her hand.

"Islanzadi wants Saphira and I to go to Gil'ead. They are going to try and break out of the siege around the castle."

--

I'm too grumpy to say anything. Seriously. I'm just gonna scowl all evening. Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Yes, this is me sulking on computer.

I'm _really_ sorry ...


	52. A Triumph

Wow! 23 reviews! Thank you all so much!

Chapter Fifty Two.

A Triumph.

Arya sat between Eridor's front legs and leant against his chest. His thick neck blocked the hot sun, and this was their first rest since leaving the Beors. She put her water flask to her mouth and tipped it upwards. She could have drunk all day.

It was just about noon; the sun was directly overhead, and Arya could feel beads of sweat starting on her forehead and under her clothes. She was starting to heartily dislike the Hardarac Desert.

She was torn; part of her was still in Tronjheim, where Eragon would doubtless just be setting off, armour donned and wards erected, for Gil'ead. She had wanted to stay to see him off; but he had tried to make her go early that morning, and in the end, with Saphira's help, he had succeeded. She and Eridor had said goodbye, and gone; just like that.

It upset her, too, that she could be so worried, but not be able to show it in any way she would have liked. She could not say that she was worried - the idea was laughable - she could not even tell him to be careful without letting him see her twisted, confused feelings for him.

But she had really wanted simply to hold his hand and make him swear to be careful.

She hadn't. Now she and Eridor were going back to Ellesmera, to their huge, peaceful prison. For a moment, they had felt freedom - to be able to travel as free people, to spend time together wherever they wanted: and now it was gone. Back to silent, cut-off life in Ellesmera.

Back to Niduen.

Arya scowled furiously. Suddenly she had no desire to rest; Eridor got up and prepared to start off again, and Arya climbed into the newly-made saddle.

_How could they? _she wondered silently, the same thoughts bouncing around her buzzing mind. _How could they, how __**dare**__ they?_

As if Niduen Silvrena, third in line for the throne, would _ever_ commit treason! Niduen, her cousin! When had the courts become so ignorant they would come to that conclusion?

Her blood boiled as it never had before. For the first time in her life, she really, truly _despised _the politics she had been brought up with. Hadn't any of them been blessed with common sense? Why did they even let the idea enter their heads that Niduen would commit treason?

_Hush, hush, _Eridor said soothingly. _Don__'__t get all worked up until there is need. _

Arya sighed. Although, of course, suitably indignant about Niduen's plight, Eridor was admirably cool. He refused to be overly angry until they got to Ellesmera and needed to have Niduen freed. She admired him for that, and occasionally wished she had such a cool temperament. But she had never had such a placid outlook, and she must have some distraction on the long flight back to Ellesmera.

_Where do you think Eragon and Saphira have got to by now? _she asked eventually to distract herself further.

_Not much further than the Beors, I expect, _he said, tipping left slightly before going into a roll. Arya clung on with hands and knees and marvelled at the extreme comfort of Eragon's handmade saddle. She exalted in this, these marvellous, exotic manoeuvres that made her feel so free and unfettered; even by the troubles that followed her and Eridor like flies. _I wish we could have gone with them, _he said suddenly.

_So do I __…__ a bit. But it would have been stupid and reckless __…__ we can__'__t let Galbatorix know you exist. _

_I wish we could have said goodbye properly, then, _he said gloomily. _I barely had a chance to speak to Saphira, after she healed the Star Rose._

_I know. _Arya sighed, and in her stomach came that odd, jumpy feeling she got when Eragon was mentioned and she was caught off guard. Eragon had been hurrying about so much she had barely had a chance to say goodbye - barely had a chance to walk around the city with him as they had planned to, in order to give Saphira time to recover. Instead all four were on their way to different parts of Alagaesia.

The Star Rose! Eragon had hardly managed to glance at it, let alone visit the dragon hold. But it was beautiful, for a dwarven thing. Even Arya felt a slight bit of emotion in her when she looked at it, hanging where it had hung for thousands of years previously. From now on, in the eyes of the dwarves, Saphira could do no wrong.

Arya had had an awful night-terror last night, and when she closed her eyes, she could still feel its horror on her. Saphira falling, Saphira crying out with her last breath … and Saphira, lifeless in the centre of Tronjheim …

She had not let Eragon say a word about her and Eridor saving them; she was afraid of what she herself might say if he did. But, oh, the disaster that could have happened …

_Oh, Arya. _Eridor craned his neck backwards but while flying could do very little. _She__'__s fine, isn__'__t she? Don__'__t think about it._

Arya closed her eyes. _I__'__m not, _she said stubbornly.

_Good. _

Eridor continued steadily towards Ellesmera, although it would evening before they even saw the treetops. Arya wiped a wet rag on her face in an effort to forestall the inevitable sun on her face and exposed limbs; and as she id so, her thoughts turned to her mother.

Gil'ead was a great fortress, by human standards. The elves had not owned or built any type of fortress purely for purposes of war for many hundreds of years, but that did not mean their expertise was any less. Arya knew that Dathedr and those other great Lords and Ladies who had fought in wars long past were with her, and that together they would make Gil'ead nigh impregnable.

Not that it stopped her feeling any less uneasy. After all, there had been one assassination attempt on her mother's life … who was to say the next one would be unsuccessful? Galbatorix must be furious that he could not break them, could not starve them out.

And now Eragon had to help the elves do what they had been planning for months: the removal; of all Imperial forces in that quarter of Alagaesia. With Eragon and Saphira there, they would, Arya was sure, be nearly unstoppable. Still, it was always a mistake to get complacent in battle.

What Arya wanted, truly, was to see her mother again. This surprised her, and upset her; but their quarrels were gone, Islanzadi had apologised, Arya had said she forgave her.

Besides, Islanzadi she didn't even know her only daughter was a Rider …

One day, Arya swore silently to herself, Arya and Eridor would be with Islanzadi in Ellesmera, in peace, together; and Niduen and Evadarr would be there. And perhaps, as well, Eragon and Saphira … Arya clenched her fist and swore on everything she loved that it would be so. That one day, she and her mother would be together again, in peace.

And she made herself believe it.

--

Arya was hot, and tired, and thirsty. Her cheeks burnt red all the time, and sweat trickled down her forehead, underneath her clothes and made her irritable. She slandered the ones that had condemned Niduen a traitor; she hated the Empire for making Eragon and Saphira go. She was even irritable at Eragon for creating those feelings in her belly that fluttered and confused her. And she was hot.

Finally, after a comfortless sleep surrounded by wards and a frugal breakfast of dried fruit and half a flask of water, the green fringe of Du Weldenvarden came into view on the horizon. Despite being so furious with a few of its inhabitants, she couldn't help being a little relieved. Once they'd freed Niduen, there would be clean water and a bed with a mattress. They seemed like luxuries of the most enormous kind to Arya at that point.

--

Cheeks burning, hair limp and damp, Arya undid the stiff straps around her legs and arms and slid off Eragon's back, fingers cramped. Eridor straightened up, alert and tense; Arya glanced around to get her bearings.

She was in a clearing close to Tialdari Hall, and therefore the Throne Room. Where should she go first? To Niduen's house, or the Throne Room to find the offending nobles?

In the end her heart decided: Niduen. She picked up her packs, rubbed her face with her sleeve and set off towards the tall redwood tree that Niduen had taken as her home.

She climbed the stairs, braced for what she might find: a notice to say Niduen Silvrena had been taken to a different town to await judgement? She knew the proceedings of the court perfectly. But when she reached the small, white porch outside the door into Niduen's house, she stopped short.

Two guards stood at attention by the white door; and on a low stool sat a silver-haired, long-legged elf whom Arya could not quite lace. He held a silver chain in his hands and twisted the pendant round and round as he stared down his restless hands. He was the picture of dejection.

Arya dropped her pack on the floor loudly; the guards saluted sharply. Arya could not care less. She was watching the other elf. He had leapt up, long, smooth hair swinging and clutching the chain tightly. He stared at her, brown eyes startled, and then bowed slightly. His heart seemed not to be in it.

"Princess Arya. Your Highness …"

His voice jolted her memory. "You are Bellaen, of Miolandra, are you not?" she said crisply, somewhat surprised at this unlikely member of the Guarding House to be sitting outside a traitors' door.

"Yes, your Highness."

"Why are you here?"

He glanced away from her, as if unsure of what to say. Then, as if steeling himself, he looked up and stared her directly in the eyes. "May I speak freely, your Highness? Without judgement?"

"Within reason, yes." Arya glanced at the guards; would they report back to the Court? No, that was not how her family's kingdom worked. She ignored them instead. "Your words will go no further if they are not treacherous, Bellaen."

His face seemed to tighten. He lifted his chin. "Your Highness, it is of treachery I want to speak with you about." Arya felt a stain of embarrassment rise on her cheeks, but suppressed it. Did all of Ellesmera know about Niduen's supposed crime?

"Well, what of it?" she said curtly.

"My Lady Niduen is accused of treason. She is accused of throwing you and Eridor Bjartskular into danger on purpose. The Court says she is a traitor to the kingdom; and that if you were hurt of discovered by the Empire, she would be responsible for our defeat, and your murders."

Arya felt herself going white. Niduen had quite covered the full extent of her accused crimes in her letter. She almost said something aloud about the Court, but bit it back just in time. "What is your point?" she said after a moment.

"Your Highness, I know that Niduen did not commit those heinous crimes. I know it with all my being."

Arya did not even notice the use of Niduen's first name, so stunned was she. "Wh … at?" she said slowly, unable to believe her ears.

"Niduen would never put you or your dragon in harm's way - never. She is no more a traitor than your Highness is. I - oh, I can't think of words," Bellaen said desperately. He did not try and hide his feelings, and for this reason, Arya warmed to him more than she would have done normally. "You surely cannot think she is guilty, Princess?"

Arya allowed her pale face to soften. "No, I do not. Of course not! It is ridiculous that the Court could ever let such a thought enter their heads."

Bellaen's pale sagged with relief. "Thank you, and may the fates be good to you, Princess."

Arya nodded tightly. "What are you, exactly, then, to Niduen?" she asked slowly, remembering how often she had seen the two walking and talking together in the past.

The elf lifted his chin, brown burning with a kind of longing fire. "She is my mate … and I am hers."

Arya stared. So that explained all those times Niduen had brought up Bellaen, a seemingly unimportant member of court; that was why he so often danced with her at festivals, and why Niduen had wanted to call him that night Saphira had destroyed Arya's house. They were_ mates __…_

She cleared her throat, unsure of what to say. "I see. Is - where - where is she being … kept?" she asked a little awkwardly.

"She is confined to her house. Food is brought in twice a day."

Arya shook with anger. She crossed the room, and put her face to the door. "Niduen? Niduen!"

"You can't, my Lady," Bellaen said quietly. "It is warded. I have not spoken to her for a week. I cannot even catch her face at the window."

Arya's hands curled on the doorframe. The soldiers stiffened. Bellaen seemed quietly despairing; Arya could hear the desperate love in his voice, and the abject misery.

"She will hear me," she said fiercely; and without further ado plunged her mind into the defences around the house; there was layer upon layer, intricately woven and made to leave not a single gap.

Arya scoffed aloud. Simple wards for one such as her, child's play combined with Eridor's power! How foolish the Court was. In less than ten minutes, she and Eridor had unpicked the wards and battered through them.

Arya put her face closer to the door. "Niduen?"

No one answered. But with the wards gone, Arya could listen through the door, and she heard faintly, the sounds of cloth swishing against wood. Niduen. Niduen always wore long dresses.

"Niduen?" she called again. "Niduen, it is Arya. Please come to the door!"

There quick, light footfalls; more material rustling. And then the door banged and Niduen was on the other side.

"Arya?!"

It made her heart hurt, to hear Niduen so desperate, so despairing. Arya pressed her hand against the door, wishing she could just pull it down.

"Yes! Are you all right? Are they treating you right?"

"When did you come back?" Arya could hear the break in her cousin's voice. "Is Eridor all right? Are you safe?"

"Of course we are! We saved her, Niduen - you and Eridor and I. She has a son, a fat, healthy baby son, the heir to the throne, and Eragon's new nephew. You did the right thing. You did, we saved their lives!" Arya banged her hand on the door, feeling helpless. Niduen gasped a little on the other side.

"Oh, I'm so glad." There was a slight thump as Niduen leaned her head against the door. "So glad."

"We'll go to the Court now, Niduen, and order your release. Just wait a bit longer, just another half-hour, all right? They will beg your forgiveness on bended knee when I have finished there," said Arya fiercely. Niduen gave a half-sob, half-laugh.

"Don't go making too many enemies, Arya. We need all the friends we have now."

"I'll be careful," she promised, although she did not feel like it. But then, Niduen had always been the more merciful of the two. "I'm - I'm going now, all right? I - I'll see you later."

Arya made to stand away, but Niduen suddenly banged the door and cried desperately: "What about my father? Where is he? What have they done to him?"

Arya opened her mouth, and closed it. She did not know. But Bellaen, who had been silent all the time they had talked, now said: "Your father is fine. I have seen him everyday since - since -" he faltered, his own voice broke. Niduen's voice was a disbelieving whisper through the door.

"B - Bellaen …?"

"Yes, beloved! It is me."

"Oh, I thought you'd gone! I thought you believed them!" Niduen's voice, for the first time, was filled with hope. Bellaen feel to his knees by the door, and whispered something back, love and adoration shining from every inch of his pale face. Arya decided to go then, when she would not be missed. She left her pack by Bellaen's deserted stool, and disappeared down the stairwell, with one backward glance at the two lovers. _So that, _she thought, feeling strangely empty, _is what love looks like. _

--

She had met Eridor outside, waiting. She undid his saddle and set it on a bench for safekeeping. Together they found the Throne Room, waited for the guards to open the doors and marched inside. Arya palm itched as her anger started to rebuild.

Pages carried parchment from one noble to another. Some sat comparing lists of warriors, deaths and injuries; some examined the papers on the distribution of weapons, and some sat deciphering Imperial codes intercepted by the Varden or the elven outposts. It was all perfectly normal, perfectly legal; yet Arya knew that some of the present nobles must have agreed to Niduen being confined to her rooms.

As she and Eridor entered, they all looked up; froze; then stood and bowed. Arya glared at them all, in a way reminiscent of her mother, and stood tall.

"Your Highness!" exclaimed one, an old elf even by their standards, and whom Arya considered fairly straightforward. "How good it is to have you back, safe and sound! We have been so worried -"

"Doubtless you have, Lord Brayene," Arya replied courteously. "But surely Lady Niduen informed you on the reasons of my absence?" She had decided to play ignorant. It would disconcert them most, she thought.

"She did, my Lady." Brayene darted nervous looks around him. Another man stood up. His black hair was perfectly straight. Arya knew him as Lord Stalen.

"Your Highness must know," he said, "that Niduen Silvrena has been named traitor, and guilty of a lesser degree of treason."

Arya felt her colour rise, and clenched her fists to stop herself cursing him. "Niduen Silvrena? You mean the former King Evandar's brother's daughter - my cousin? Surely not, Lord Stalen. On what ground have these accusations been founded?"

Stalen's eyes narrowed. Arya rather thought he suspected her game. "Page, bring me those sheets there," he said to the page that stood behind his chair. The elf picked them and placed them in his white hand. "These, Highness, are the proceedings." He held for her to take and read. Arya curled her lip slightly.

"Read them to me, Lord Stalen."

He gave her a look that was remarkably like displeasure. "It is written here as follows, Princess: _On the proceedings of Court this fourth day of the fifth moon-cycle in the year one hundred and ninety nine AF, the Court of Tialdari Hall finds Niduen Silvrena (third in line for the throne, cousin in blood to present Princess Regent Arya, and daughter of Evadarr, second in line for throne) guilty of Treason, in a Lesser Degree. _

"_The charges are as follows: That she did knowingly, and willingly, allow Arya Drottningu, current heir to the throne, to leave the elven provinces unguarded and unprotected. _

"_That she did not alert members of Court immediately after committing this act, therefore breaking Clause Two of the Scroll of Incidents to the Royal Family._

"_That she is responsible for any damage that may befall Arya Drottningu and the dragon Eridor, to whom she is bonded._

"_These crimes were accorded to her; she did not deny them. The sentence was as follows:_

"_That Niduen Silvrena (formerly Lady) be confined to the house she occupies in Tialdari Hall until or if Arya Drottningu returns to pass sentence. _

"_This motion has been approved by a majority of six to five out of the present members of Court in Queen Islanzadi__'__s absence.__"_

Stalen finished, coughed slightly, and looked to Arya for her reaction. She was too furious to speak for a moment; with a great effort she mastered herself and created a blank mask on her face.

"Lady Niduen is as true to the Crown and Kingdom as any one of you. I received a letter - a plea of help from the dwarves. Their Queen, Hvedra, was dying. She was also with child." A few of the female Ladies blinked and clasped their hands, and so did a fair few men. "They did not know the poison, nor the antidote. However, I soon identified it from an old scroll I had been reading. Niduen went to the Healing Houses and found the antidote.

"I knew that a messenger on horseback would not get to Tronjheim in time. Therefore, Eridor and I decided to take it. We had no time to consult the Court, or we would have done, Lord Stalen.

"My cousin tried to stop me. She knew it was dangerous." Arya paused, and glanced around as them all: this was the tricky part. "I ordered her to help me pack and to delay telling the Court. Had she disobeyed me, _then_ she would have been a traitor. She is _not_ a traitor for doing as I ordered."

All the nobles' faces were expressionless. Arya stared at them all, then at Stalen, who seemed to be the leader of this injustice. He blinked at her.

"There is such a thing as free will, Princes," he said, almost patronisingly, as if talking to a temperamental child. "Silvrena should have done what was best for her country."

"That is Lady Niduen to you, and remember it!" Arya spat suddenly. They all stared like impudent cats at her, as if surprised. She did not care. "_I_ have not stripped her of her title. _I _have the power to do that, and _only _me. Remember who is monarch of this country in the Queen's place, Stalen!"

He inclined his head stiffly. "Apologies, Princess."

"My cousin did as I said, because she loves me, because she is my family, because we knew that only by doing what we did, would we save Queen Hvedra. And we did! She is recovering swiftly, and her child was born in my presence. He is fat and healthy, and both would be dead had Niduen not done as she did."

Stalen was silent. But another man said: "We did the best we could with the evidence we were provided with, your Highness. We apologise. It seems we were too hasty."

Arya bit back the temptation to say that, yes, they had been too hasty. Instead, she turned back to Stalen. "Now, I will give you - you six who thought my cousin was a traitor - a direct order. You will revoke her sentence. You will free her. You will record a full apology in the notes, and to Lady Niduen herself. You will inform Ellesmera at large that she is innocent."

Their smooth faces were expressionless. Arya did not wait for more apologies. "Give me the key for her rooms."

A page produced it from come cubby hole and gave it to her. "Princess," said Brayene, "the wards must be taken down first …"

"I have already done that," she said coldly. "They were hardly impregnable."

With that, she and Eridor left. She had the strong suspicion that she was now distrusted rather a lot among the Court. Well, what did it matter? She had Eridor; she was Rider; they did not need anybody else.

--

Despite being rather tired, Arya almost ran up the stairs to Niduen's house. Bellaen was kneeling by the keyhole, talking to his beloved. Arya smiled at him as he stood up, and lifted the key for him to see. He sighed in relief, and then waited in anticipation for her to open it.

Without a word to Niduen, Arya inserted the key, and turned the lock. The last of the wards fell away, and it swung open to reveal Niduen, face streaked with a few tears, and long hair disarranged. With a wordless cry she sprang up from the floor, glanced from Arya to Bellaen, and then threw her arms around his neck, shaking in all her delicate limbs. They clung together.

Arya looked away, to give them privacy, and told the guards to go away, that the Court had ordered it. When she turned back to her cousin, she had released her mate. Her face was stained with tears, but they were now tears of hope and relief, and love; in a moment she had embraced Arya, too, and Arya clutched her back, tightly . She was so, so glad …

"I'm sorry," she said indistinctly. Her hair and her dust clothes mingled with Niduen's clean dress and loose hair - how like Niduen to be clean and tidy even when imprisoned in her own home - "I'm sorry, Niduen."

"Don't be silly." Niduen kissed her cheek and took Arya's face in her hands. Arya remembered that Niduen was a good deal older than her. "I'm so proud of you. So would your father be. We saved a life - two lives, little cousin."

"I should have told the Court. I shouldn't have put you through this."

"I don't care. I knew you'd be back. I knew it!" Arya did not believe her. Elves did not cry for no reason. But she let it lie for now. Niduen was upset enough as it was. Soon Niduen had kissed her again, then gone to Bellaen, kissed him, and led the two back inside her house. Eridor poked his nose in the window; and for the rest of that afternoon there was great sorrowing, but also great rejoicing.

--

Arya sat on her bed in Niduen's house, tired and a bit achy, and started to dry her hair. She had had a long and glorious wash in the water closet, and was now very ready to go sleep. Still, her hair was long, and needed looking after, at least a bit. Arya picked up a comb and started the arduous job of combing out the tangles.

She was so tired. Her body was worn out from jumping on and off Eridor, from sleeping on the desert, and from travelling so far. Her mind was slow, too, worn out with the effort of worrying about Eragon and her mother, affection for Niduen, and anger at the nobles.

Eridor was settling down in his normal little glade now - although he seemed to have grown, and had had to push a few trees down to fit into it - and he was also so sleepy that it made Arya feel even more so.

She finished with the comb, braided her hair, and found a thin shift to wear. Tomorrow she would have to find more clothes, because her other things were too full of dust to be worn. Besides … she wanted to be fairly neat and clean tomorrow: she and Niduen were going to meet Evadarr.

She had left her window open, and now that night had fallen there was a cool breeze fluting through the room that she was very glad of. An owl hooted, and there were crickets singing somewhere. Arya smiled. It _was_ good to be back in Ellesmera. She moved to the window, and stood by the sill, smelling the air.

It had always been like this. After her father had died, it was always someone else that lulled her to sleep. Sometimes it had been the crickets. Sometimes the wind, or a storm over the horizon. But never her mother.

Arya sighed. Ellesmera held far too many memories. Every smell, and plant and place had a different memory; and whether they were sad or happy or bittersweet, they were always just memories.

It was like that now. No Islanzadi in her own chambers, sitting at her own window. Just memories of the mother Arya had not seen for months on end. The mother who even now was waiting in a castle besieged by the Empire.

The sad, miserable thing was that out of her family, only she, Arya, and her father were any good as warriors. Her mother was cultured and clever, but skilled with magic more than arms. And Evadarr - all Evadarr wanted was peace and quiet to make his maps. Niduen was as gentle as her mother had been, in some ways at least.

Ah, Niduen had fairly glowed all day, but for the times she thought of her imprisonment. She had sat hand in hand with Bellaen and smiled all the while. Arya had never thought she'd see the day Niduen was so completely besotted with another living being.

Arya smiled. It was wonderful to see her normally so proper and well-kempt cousin sit by the side of the man she loved so much, smiling, laughing, and disregarding the etiquette that made her so habitually quiet. It made Arya's heart hurt with an almost painful, relieved love.

For a moment she imagined how it would be if she was like Niduen. Could she laugh and sing at odd intervals and make such shows of affection in public? Probably not. What an odd thought.

Rather annoyed with herself for thinking this frivolous thought, Arya climbed into the long, low white bed that she had slept in since her house had been ruined, and pulled the blankets up around her. Eridor nosed his way gently into her mind and said goodnight.

She was fast asleep very quickly, exhausted in every meaning of the word. Still, she was conscious as she slept the waking sleep of the elves that outside was the city she had grow up in, the trees she knew so well; and her only cousin Niduen in the next room.

--

Arya stared at herself in the mirror of the pretty willow-wood dresser that sat under the window in her bedroom. She had brushed her hair, and it lay soft and untangled on her shoulders; her clothes were clean and pretty enough for someone who had been flying through the heart of Alagaesia for days on end, and the tunic was soft and loose.

Still, she did not look quite as she remembered. Her cheeks that had been pale as the rest of her skin were burnt red. She looked almost as if she had been painted, Arya thought regretfully. It was very unusual for an elf to have so much colour on the cheeks naturally. Her hair was a little … Arya did not know the word … thick. It had once hung straight down her back; now it tumbled in a direction that was only vaguely downwards. And her hands were darker on top; the back of her was tanned.

It was not only that. If someone else had been there to tell her what was really different about her face, they would have said far more things besides, if that person were observant. They would say that her lips turned upwards at the corners, as if waiting for a chance to smile. They would say that her pink cheeks, though slightly rough in texture, made her eyes stand out more. And perhaps they would say also that those same green eyes glittered with good feeling, with goodwill and even hope.

But Arya could not see this. She did not see the change in herself. What she saw was the demise of her pale, courtly looks and even her courtly manners. She wondered what the court would make of her. She wondered what Evadarr would make of her. If he dared say a word about it …

_Oh, be calm, Arya, _said Eridor, sounding alarmed. _If you go to lunch with him and look so fierce he might just decide to run in the other direction. _

_I am not in the mood for jokes, _Arya said, fiddling with the ends of her hair.

_I wasn__'__t joking, _said Eridor solemnly. _Be at least a little cheerful._

_Well, you are coming too, _she replied quickly, _and _you _can be friendly. If he __…_

_Arya, _said Eridor reproachfully, _you must give him a chance. He gave us the map, he apologised. He _blessed_ you, for goodness__'__ sake! It seems he wants to make amends with you, and you mustn__'__t be so fierce. _

_Yes __…__ I know you__'__re right, Eridor, but __…_Arya bit her lip and stared unseeing at the mirror and the anxious-looking elf that was reflected there. _I am a little bit __…__ nervous, I suppose __…_

_Ah, well, _said Eridor wisely. _That is to be expected. _

_Hm. _Arya took a deep breath, took one more look at herself in the mirror, and then stepped outside into the large, spacious room that was the main part of Niduen's house. Niduen herself was standing by the window, already dressed in a blue frock of demure and tasteful making, and her hair was done up in loose braids.

She had been waiting for Arya. In a few moments they were outside and walking to the wing of the inner parts of Tialdari Hall that Evadarr lived in. Eridor met them after a couple of minutes, and all three walked together, Eridor carefully avoiding the beds of flowers along the borders.

Arya felt as if a butterfly was fluttering around in her stomach. She gritted her teeth, folded her arms, and tried to push them down.

It did not work.

--

"Father!" Niduen made her way into Evadarr's house with a peremptory knock. "Where are you?"

Arya followed slowly and glanced warily about. Evadarr's house was in essence a little like Eragon's. There were few pretty things, but many practical ones. A large desk was covered with scrolls of parchment, bottles of ink and quills. There were pigeon-holes in the wall for the storage of more scrolls, and a few cages for doves.

However, it was a long, spacious house like Niduen's, and in one part at the end corner a kettle was starting to boil. It was here that her Uncle stood; his long, poker-straight hair hid his face. Arya summoned all her nerves, and followed Niduen to him. But he turned around before she got there, and Arya saw what he had been doing; a grey dove stood on his sideboard.

"Atra esterni ono thelduin," he said, pressing his two fingers to his lips. His rather severe face was perfectly collected.

Arya was thrown off-balance for a moment: she had become used to odd greetings and impromptu 'good mornings' when with Eragon, and this return to elven etiquette was a little disconcerting. But only for a moment: she had, after all, been brought up to it.

"Mor'ranr lifa unin hjarta ono."

"Un du Evarinya ono varda." He stared at her, and Arya stared at him. She was determined not to speak first. "So, you have returned."

Arya raised an eyebrow slightly, and nodded. She would not reply to that either. Evadarr turned for a moment, and picked the grey dove up. It sat on his arm, and gazed placidly at the two visitors.

"You have returned, and I now offer you and your dragon greatest thanks. I do not approve of the Court, and I could not find a way of revoking their sentence until you came back … Niduen would have stayed imprisoned had you not come."

Arya hesitated; she did not want to sound insecure or unsure, but it was _because_ of her that Niduen had been named traitor.

"It is kind that you think so highly of us," she said after a moment, "but it was only because Eridor and I were in such a hurry that Niduen was accused. Had we had time to wait, we would have notified the Court beforehand."

"The Court," he said with an impatient wave of his hand that made the fat grey dove hoot indignantly, "is ridiculous. They have power, but what use is power if there is no common sense behind it?"

Arya half-smiled. That had been in her thoughts yesterday, too. "Perhaps you are right. It is surprising they did not listen to your pleas, Niduen."

Niduen stared at Arya, then her father. "What pleas?"

"The reasons for you and … Arya -" Arya noted the hesitation in using her name "- you and Arya doing what you did, Niduen."

"Oh, yes." Niduen nodded; her braided and twisted hair swung as she did so, hiding her face. She held out her hand to the dove in a slightly hurried movement. "Is this Theya, Father? Did she come back?"

"She did indeed." A cheerful look lit Evadarr's stern features, though it was short-lived. He frowned slightly. "What _did_ you tell the Court, Niduen?"

"Oh, never mind that," she said with an overly bright smile. "It's all done with now."

Evadarr stared at his daughter, but to Arya's slight surprise did not pursue the matter. "True," he said almost carelessly. "Well, then will you have some food and drink with me, Arya?"

It was distinctly odd to hear him calling her by her first name, but Arya did not let it faze her. "Yes, thank you, we will."

"And your dragon …?" he ventured delicately. Eridor, at this mention of him, poked his head through the nearest window, and stared at them all with interested eyes.

_I am a little hungry, _he said to Arya in answer to her uncle's question, _but I suppose I can hunt later._

This she relayed to her Uncle, who by now was sitting with Niduen on a padded seat around the round table that seemed to be the only clear place in the house. Arya sat down next to her, and took the mug of tea - blackberry, incidentally - that was given her.

Arya could feel Evadarr's eyes on her, and lifted her gaze to stare back at him; but it was not, as she had rather been expecting, but only one that was tying, as she thought, to understand her. She stared back for a moment, and then he blinked, and looked away.

"So," he said eventually, "what happened in Tronjheim?"

Arya glanced at Niduen. She looked back, face unhelpfully bland. "We were attacked by Fanghur on the way," she said slowly. "Three of them …" she paused. Was it her imagination, or did Evadarr look really and truly interested? It was hard to tell. Still …

"They followed us right up to city. We had to trick them …"

Arya explained Tronjheim to her Uncle and cousin as concisely as she could, conscious that she must be careful of what she said. Niduen listened in sympathy and horror at equal, but Evadarr seemed to enjoy the tale very much. When she had finished a while later, he folded his arms, and sighed.

"I remember Tronjheim," he said, almost wistfully. "And that gem of theirs, it was something spectacular to see. It is good that is still there. It is the dwarves' pride and joy."

Arya raised an eyebrow. "When did you go there?" she asked, somewhat stiffly.

"Oh, almost two hundred years ago. That was when Azhbor of Clan Nagra ruled … I never met Hrothgar in person, but he requested a few of my maps occasionally. Before the Fall, that is … they are very hospitable at Tronjheim."

"I know," Arya said. "Although without the dragon hold, it was rather forlorn."

Evadarr nodded, and looked at her again, scrutinising her. "But you broke the Star Rose in the first place."

Arya stiffened. "With good reason."

"The Shade … yes." Arya wondered if he was generally this vague.

"The Shade got what he deserved," she said fiercely. "Eragon was very brave. The only thing I regret is that the pain he forced on Eragon."

She was intent on her Uncle's brooding face, and did not see the sharp, knowing look on Niduen's face. "Do you mean the scar?" she asked gently. Arya hesitated, but Evadarr spoke before she could.

"What scar? He seemed fit and able when I … met him in Tialdari Hall."

Arya looked at him strangely. Niduen lowered her eyes, and glanced away. "The scar Durza's sword left on his back. It … it gave him terrible, crippling seizures, if he overexerted himself. But you know that, surely," she said to him. "Did you not see what happened at the Agaeti Blodrhen?"

"I saw many things at the Agaeti Blodrhen," Evadarr said coldly, "and few of them worth seeing at all."

Arya frowned slightly. Every elf - with the possible exception of Rhunon - honoured and celebrated the Agaeti Blodrhen. Niduen dug Arya surreptitiously in the ribs. _We were in Osilon then! _she said to Arya, using her mind. _Ssh! _

"But surely you watched through the mirrors?" she persisted. Evadarr looked as if he was chewing on something rather sour. "Surely you watched Idurna and Neya, the Caretakers?"

Evadarr sighed. "I am old, Arya … old and tired. I do not like war. I am not a warrior, nor a politician. Galbatorix has brought me nothing but heartache and sadness. I only want to see him finished. I gave the race of dragons up for lost a hundred years ago. Even if they were not, it will not bring her back."

Her, Arya knew, was Niduen's mother, dead in an Urgal ambush. She leant forward over the table. "But the race of dragons is not dead," she said intensely. "Who is outside your house at this moment? Who is fighting alongside her Rider for Queen Islanzadi at this very moment?"

"They may be the start of the next generation of dragons," Evadarr said sadly, and Arya thought in that moment that the did look old, "but there will never be any more Riders."

"What do mean?" Arya said, puzzled. "Of course there will be, what about Eragon and I? Aren't we proof?"

He shook his head. "You are the last remainders of a lost age," he said plainly. "You will not resurrect the Riders."

"You mean we are not capable of it?" Arya said coolly, holding her head higher.

"Oh, no … that is not the problem. And believe me, Arya, I have mulled over the problem for a very long time, ever since Brom stole the egg with my help. I think it would be deceptively easy to resurrect the Riders. Create more enchanted eggs, find somewhere to house them - and make another empire. Is that not how you imagine it?"

"I have not thought about it," she replied blithely. "There are more important things to think about."

"Imagine if you _can_ kill Galbatorix," Evadarr said, also leaning over the table slightly. "You will be powerful, and this, if you resurrected the Riders, is what you would teach them. And at some point, whether in a hundred years, or a thousand years, another Galbatorix would inevitably arise. Only he would be even stronger, madder, more powerful. How much longer would it take for this one to be defeated? A hundred years, like now? Or two hundred? Or would he never be defeated?

"That is the price the Riders would pay, for the second time."

Arya sat back, stony-faced; but inside her mind whirled. Was that true? Was it even possible to resurrect the Riders? How did Evadarr know all this?

"You are getting ahead of yourself, Uncle," she said, almost without noticing what she was saying. "Galbatorix must be dead first, before we start to think such things …"

Her ears were ringing with a strange noise. Suddenly she was terrified. Galbatorix, Galbatorix, the mad man, the monster, the most terrifying beast in Alagaesia, powerful beyond anyone else. They must fight him … imagine what he would do to her, to Eridor, to Eragon and Saphira … imagine standing before and seeing his face, and his black, fathomless eyes, without one hint of mercy in them …

Her hands shook; her tea spilled over the edge of the mug; Arya set it down hastily. It slopped onto her hand and burned her, but she did not notice.

_Arya! _Eridor burst his way into her mind; he was as distressed as her. _Ssh, ssh, don__'__t think of it! Shut your mind, don__'__t let the Vault in!_

Niduen caught Arya's hand and squeezed it. Her hands were warm, but Arya could feel that her own were cold as ice. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Nothing, nothing." Arya closed her eyes for a moment, and fiercely berated herself for being so weak; and opened her eyes. Niduen was looking concerned; Evadarr's face was a mask.

"You have no idea," she said slowly and quietly, "of the things Eridor and I have seen … and done. You would not talk so candidly of the future, if you had. The things Galbatorix has at his beck and call are not to be underestimated or forgotten. It would destroy a lesser person to know the secrets Eragon, Saphira, Eridor and I do. We will go to battle eventually, Uncle Evadarr, and there we may die, along with many others. It is fear that we have never known before, fear that few others have known. You are _not _qualified to talk about it!"

Evadarr placed his hands together as if in prayer, but his gaze was grave. "Then I will not. I … apologise for sounding insincere … but I spoke my mind … and perhaps I should not have."

"Father, let us not talk of it any more," Niduen said gently. "it is between Arya and Eragon, and their dragons. We have no place to question."

Though Niduen meant it well, this made Arya feel worse. She and Eragon had no master plan, no secret against Galbatorix … barring, of course, their access to the Vault of Souls …

"Father, do you want more millet for the birds?" Niduen asked, making to stand up. "I promised Bellaen that I would meet him soon. He will get the millet for you, as always, if want it."

"Yes, please." Evadarr's eyes suddenly twinkled. It made him look, suddenly, like the father he was to Niduen, and the reason she loved him so very much. "Theya has been to look for a mate, and she is tired."

Niduen gave her father a reproachful look; but Arya did not think he was making a barb towards Bellaen; he was just very interested in his birds.

"Fine, father," Niduen said with a small smile. "I will bring you the seeds. But I have to go, now."

Arya got up; her tea was cold, anyway. Niduen, kissed her father on his cheek, and linked her arm to Arya's, something she liked to do when Arya let her. As they left through the screen door, Evadarr touched Arya's arm and met her eyes; his gaze was serious, but kind.

"I know that I have upset you, and that I have not behaved towards you and your mother and my brother would have wanted me to. I know, also, that I cannot take back my actions .. Of lack of them. But I will be here, should you need any help. I will, Arya. Please do not forget it."

Arya stared at him solemnly, but she liked him for the first time in her life, as more than an inconvenience. He was wise, and clever, and he was gentle as could be with his birds. "I will remember," she said quietly. "Thank you, Uncle."

And she quickly touched the hand that lay on her arm; but Niduen smiled at her father, squeezed Arya's arm, and bore her away from the high house in the trees.

--

The stars shone cold and clear over Alagaesia; over the plains of the desert; over the snow-capped Beor Mountains, and the hot, sandy country of Surda; over, as well, the fortress-city of Gil'ead. The skies were obscured by a cloud of dust and dirt, and the stench of battle; but through this poisonous mist rang the elves' songs, of loss and sorrow, and pain; and the dead they mourned.

The stars shone, too, over Ellesmera; and though the night was clear and peaceful, Arya tossed and turned and sweated. Her mind was filled with the hoarse voice of a raven, a white raven …

_Egg before a hen I knew __…_

Eridor twitched in his sleep. Arya buried her head in her pillow.

_Oak before a tree __…_

Arya moaned slightly. She could not shake this memory from her mind.

_But never did I see a Queen __…_

But Blagden had said it so long ago, it was not true …

_Die before her day __…_

Arya sat up, wide-eyed and sleep-addled. Before long the fright had worn off; she lay back down, dabbed the sweat from her forehead, and pulled the covers back over herself. By the time the morning sun shone into the little white room, and Arya stirred and woke, she had forgotten it.

--

Niduen sat on Arya's bed and grinned like a Cheshire cat. "So," she said, watching Arya sorting through her damaged clothes, "how is Eragon?"

"I would very much like to know that," Arya said absently, not seeing her cousin's expectant face. "I hope a dove will come soon."

"Well, what about in Tronjheim?" Niduen tried again.

"Oh …" Arya stopped in the act of folding a pair of leggings, and screwed up her face, remembering the awkward, but so-intense moments she had shared with Eragon, and the moments of panic and happiness both. "Oh, fine," she said to Niduen.

"What did he say?"

"What do you expect him to say?" Arya asked, frowning a little. "Not a huge amount, actually, we were quite busy …"

"You must have talked a _bit_," said Niduen exasperatedly. Arya stared at her.

"Well, yes, but …"

"Come, then," Niduen said cheerfully. "Tell me all about it."

"All about _what_?" Arya said, throwing down a ripped tunic and putting her hands on her hips. "Niduen, what _are_ you talking about?"

The smile faded from Niduen's glowing face. "Don't you know?"

"_No_!"

"Not at all?"

"Niduen!"

"But …" Niduen looked slightly bewildered. "But didn't he say to you …?"

"Didn't _who_ say _what_?" Arya looked utterly perplexed. It was Niduen's turn to stare.

"Did Eragon mention anything about a conversation he and I had when you saw him last …?" she said delicately. Arya raised an eyebrow.

"No."

Niduen looked as surprised as if Eragon himself had just dropped through her roof. "Nothing?"

"No, nothing." Arya looked puzzled and slightly concerned for her cousin's state of mind. "Should he have?"

"Oh, the silly man!" Niduen buried her face in Arya's blankets for a moment. "I thought he would speak to you now!"

"He did speak to me," Arya said, slightly nettled, "and he made far more sense that you are, Niduen. Explain yourself, or stop talking, please."

"Yes, Highness," she replied teasingly. "But I shan't say a word. It's for Eragon to say, not me."

"Fine," Arya said irritably, starting her sorting-out again. Niduen sighed.

"How much do you like Eragon?"

"What?" said Arya, as absent as before: she was examining a bloodstain on a tunic, and wondering if it was Fanghur, or dragon, and if it would wash out, because she liked the tunic, and not really listening to Niduen.

"How much do you care for Eragon?" she repeated patiently.

"Oh, very much … I …" Arya stopped and glared suspiciously at her blank-faced cousin. "What did you say?"

"So you _do _care about him!" Niduen exclaimed happily. "I thought you did. Oh, good …"

"Yes, I do, of course I do," Arya said, looking a little flustered. "We've known each other for a long time, we …"

"Now, I've heard that from you **and** him one too many times," said Niduen mock-severely. "How much do you care for him, truly?"

"Niduen!" Arya abandoned her clothes and sat on her bed face-to-face with her cousin. "I really don't understand what you expect me to say."

"Oh, Arya. You are clever, you know, but sometimes you are as blind as a bat. Don't you like Eragon as anything more than a friend?"

"No." Arya turned away and sat bolt upright, so that her slightly-curling hair hid her face from view. "No, I do not."

"Arya …" Niduen wrapped her long, soft fingers around Arya's thin wrist. "Look me in the eye … and tell me that again."

"I don't have to do anything," Arya said stubbornly. "Niduen, don't ask me to, don't …"

"But if someone else doesn't ask you, Arya," said Niduen gently, "then you will continue to ignore what you feel, to lie to yourself … I want to see you happy, little cousin."

"How can we be happy?" Arya asked, hands growing cold again. "How can we, how can anybody? Galbatorix is waiting, out there in Uru'Baen … waiting …"

Niduen glanced out of the window, at the bright sunlight for a moment. "The strongest things of all, the things that truly fight Galbatorix - hope, faith … loyalty - love … all the things he will never have, will never understand, those are the things we have that he does not. Hope to fight tyranny, faith to fight cowardice … and love; love to fight hate, Arya." Niduen took Arya's hands and squeezed. "But how can _you_ fight it?"

Arya was silent for a long minute. Niduen was right, of course … all those emotions that she had closed off for so long, they were so important, so real and true … but she had not needed them before in battle, she had survived by herself …

But now there was Eridor. He was hers, she was his … she loved him, and when combined, few things could stop them, she thought, thinking about the Fanghur, the Desert, the Star Rose, falling …

And Eragon …

Her heart exploded into pain that literally stabbed her chest and made her put her hand to her breast. With a great effort she repressed it, and lifted her head. Eridor was making his way towards her from where he had been hunting. She could not stop him.

"Well?" Niduen inquired softly.

Arya folded her arms. "Niduen, you should be a battering ram for the Varden," she said bleakly, "you have got your point across very well."

"I am not trying to hurt you," Niduen said coolly. "But I cannot stand here and watch you deny yourself happiness."

Arya started to say that she was _perfectly_ happy, but stopped. She could not be bothered to exert anything more. "How do you feel when you are with Bellaen, then?" she asked, not wanting to, but curious anyway.

"Oh," Niduen's face seemed illuminated by a ray of sunshine all of a sudden. Her smile was almost that of a puppy mooning over another. "Oh, as if I can do no wrong … because _he_ cannot … like the whole world is right, and he can put it right. I just love him, Arya," Niduen said simply. Arya snorted quietly.

That was _certainly_ not remotely like anything she felt for Eragon … anyway, it sounded distinctly odd, and Arya rather thought that if that was love, and she turned into a love-struck fool, she would rather ignore it all together. Then she smiled at the idea of Eragon being as love-struck as Niduen, and wondered if he ever would be. She hoped not, for some reason.

"I appreciate your efforts," she said, smiling, to the expectant Niduen, "but it is not that way at all."

"Not at all?" Niduen looked very disappointed. Arya stood up and picked up all her clothes that were beyond repair, including the nightdress she had used as a headdress on their first flight to Tronjheim.

"No, Niduen. Not at all."

"In that case," she said after a pause, in which Arya got herself caught in a loop of stitching that was coming undone, "I shall speak freely, as I wanted to when I came."

"Oh, yes?" said Arya, resorting to biting through the thread instead of untangling herself.

"Yes. Now, would you say Eragon is an elf, or a human?"

"Neither," Arya replied promptly. "He is a Rider. That is almost a race in itself … Ahm, why do you ask?"

"I was wondering," said Niduen slowly, eyes fixed on something far away, "if he would get married or simply take a mate like we do."

All the clothes tumbled out of Arya's arms. "And _why _were you wondering that?"

"I was just thinking to myself, last night … I wonder if he has anyone special at the Varden?"

"He doesn't," Arya replied shortly, gathering all the garments back up, and folding them rather savagely.

"Are you sure?"

"If he had," Arya said sourly, "he would have mentioned it to me."

"But what if it was a secret?" said Niduen, pushing a little harder. Arya stood up so quickly that she almost knocked Niduen off the bed.

"He does not -!" she started heatedly, then paused, taking a deep breath that was visible to Niduen, and closed her mouth determinedly. "I'm taking these to the storehouse," she said sharply and abruptly, then marched out of the bedroom with a poker-straight back. Niduen lay back down on Arya's blanketed bed, and grinned to herself.

What a triumph.

--

I can juggle! I really can! And walk on stilts and use devil sticks ... gonna be helping to teach it soon, but next week is a unicycle. Get the camers ready, lol ...

Good chapter ...?


	53. Messengers

You won't believe it but mum's computers - both of them - are burning with a very unpleasant virus. Oh, and our newly-repaired car was ploughed into at the back … by an off-duty WPC! Oh, the irony?

Anyway, huge thanks for every single review, although I have barely read them because of the computers being out-of-order: I'm just about to sneak off to the caravan and use the virussed computer - I know it's not a word! - while mum has a nap. She'll never know I'm gone … ahem …

Chapter Fifty Three.

Messengers.

Eragon stared, unseeing, at the green canopy of Du Weldenvarden passing beneath Saphira. He had never felt quite so miserable in this odd, gnawing way. Was it because he was nervous of what was ahead? Of what he had to do, to say …?

Eragon was not foolish; he knew that he and Saphira had fought bravely and worked hard; the elves could not complain. They had helped tirelessly; afterwards, they had helped to dispose of the dead, and burn the bodies of the Empire's soldiers. They had healed the wounded, administered potions and bandages, and created wards around the temporary hospitals. They had barely slept for two hours in a week.

Saphira breasted a wave of cold air, and Eragon automatically bent to avoid it. His heart felt heavy again; for a moment, remembering the flea-ridden, badly armoured men of the Empire, and their pathetic filthy corpses, he had seemed to smell the burning funeral pyres again.

Burning bodies; in Carvahall, that had been unthinkable; it would have been called dishonouring the dead. The dead of Carvahall were put in wooden coffins, and lowered into the ground. Eragon was not quite reconciled to the idea of burning a dead loved one.

Still, the elves did it … they said that way the body was returned to nature …

So many elves burned, their ashes scattered over the cliffs of the grey Lake Isenstar that bordered the north side of the city-fortress. They had been washed and dressed in clean linen, and set on pyres; Eragon and Saphira had stood and watched them all burn; and there had been_ him_ as well, the one who had entrusted the mysterious gift to them, his noble face peaceful and calm.

Eragon looked down at the long, vaguely cross-shaped bundle wrapped in white bandages that hung on the side of the saddle, on the opposite side to Daiithil. Now he was a messenger, too; a gift-bearer. The dead Lord who had given it to them had been the leader of his House.

_The wards are coming down, _said Saphira dully. She was no happier than he was; she thought she could have prevented it, and Eragon could not convince her otherwise.

_All right. _

Gilderien the Wise no longer stopped them, and they were able to fly through the hole he provided in the wards to Ellesmera. Eragon watched the last parts of their journey finish, as the trees became older and taller. A block seemed to rise up his chest, and constrict his feelings; he felt stifled.

What was he going to do? How was he going to say it? What would she do?

The elves would soon know he was back; the Lords would be aware of the temporary break in the wards. Saphira landed clumsily; she was exhausted. Eragon swung off her, bloodied armour creaking, and sword clanking. He briefly wondered if he should take the cross-shaped package, but discarded the idea. One thing at a time.

Saphira padded quietly off; they had decided that she should not find Eridor, until Eragon had found Arya. She had to be quiet, for the instincts that made Saphira able to tell if he was within ten miles of her, worked for Eridor also.

Eragon gritted his teeth; he was not sure, truly, what to do. But dithering would not help. He marched along a path covered in flowering currants, and then up a flight of shallow steps that provided a shortcut to the West corner of Tialdari Hall, and from there Niduen's house was close by.

He presumed that Arya still lived with Niduen; but by bleak coincidence, he saw Niduen herself running down another staircase just as he arrived in the West wing. He hesitated, in two minds in whether to call her or not; but she saw him as she finished the flight of stairs.

"Eragon!" she smiled, and hurried towards him. "Eragon, are you only just back? No one told us!"

"No one else has seen us," he replied, and glanced past her, almost expecting Arya to spring out from somewhere. "How is Arya?"

"Very well … she has been waiting for a dove. We were surprised when none came."

Eragon did not miss the subtle inflection of this sentence; why, Niduen was asking, did he not care enough about Arya to let her knew he was safe? "The tidings I bring are too important to be put into a letter. Where is Arya, please?"

A flash of well-subdued apprehension passed across Niduen's pretty face. "What has happened? What news do you bring?"

"I am sorry, Niduen." Eragon was tired; he wanted to sleep. "I am sorry, but I must see Arya, first."

"Very well. She is in my house, though she and Eridor have been flying all morning." Eragon felt a stab of pain; she had been happy this morning, and now what he must tell her ..

Niduen gathered her skirts, and started up the staircase again., Eragon followed her. Whereas her slippered feet made the faintest noise, Eragon's armour clanked and creaked, and Daiithil banged against his side. For the few that observed it, it was an odd sight: a warrior, bloodied and battered, and the clean, dainty Lady.

Niduen's house was positioned at the top of a large tree, and the door was set in a tiny wooden ante chamber. Eragon was immune to the sweet scented cloths Niduen hung on the walls, and the pretty tapestries that hung all around. He saw the white screen door and knew that it was time. Niduen hesitated before opening it.

"Shall I wait outside?"

Eragon considered. "Yes, please … but feel no obligation to stay - it is your house …"

"If it as important - and private - as you make it seem, then I will wait … just in case." Niduen tucked her dress underneath her legs and sat neatly on a small stool. Eragon was quite sorry for asking her to wait outside her own house, but he could see no other way around it. "Thank you," he said after a moment, and opened the door.

He had rarely been to Niduen's house, but it was white, and clean and daintily arranged - much like Niduen herself. He glanced about for Arya, and saw her, quite unexpectedly, in the middle of the room, sitting on a low couch, rubbing oil into the leather stirrups of Eridor's new saddle. Eragon's heart clenched as he saw her and he said nothing, just watching her.

But Arya had heard the door open and close. "Please pass me that rag, will you, Niduen? If I move, the oil with overturn."

Eragon opened his mouth, shut it again, then tried to unstuck his throat. "Arya."

Her head shot up, and said oil fell of her thigh onto the rug. "Eragon?"

The welcome and pleasure in her eyes at seeing him standing there hurt Eragon, deep into his soul; he didn't deserve it, not at all … "Arya …"

She disregarded his sad tone, and stood up, dropping the leathers down on the couch. Though Eragon knew she was in no way wearing any especially pretty clothes, or neatened in readiness for court, he thought her all the more beautiful.

"Are you all right? Eridor did not know Saphira was here." And her voice was like music, for he had not heard for what seemed such a long time. But his heart was heavy, because these were her last few minutes not weighed down with grief …

"Arya, I …" he stared at her, and he knew that without meaning to, his gaze had softened and perhaps she had seen his feelings in his eyes; but instead of looking away she stared back; Eragon thought she looked happy to see him.

"What's wrong?" she asked blithely. "And where is Niduen?"

"I … I asked her to wait outside - she did not mind. There is something I need to talk to you about, please."

Her face became wary. "About what?"

"About … something that happened in Gil'ead. Ah … perhaps you should sit down," he added awkwardly.

"I won't faint, Eragon," she replied crisply. "Besides, you look as if you need to sit down, not me. When did you last sleep?"

"Oh, a couple of days ago," he said, waving the sensible question away as if it were a fly. "But that's not important."

Arya looked as if she thought it was, but showed it only by a raising of an eyebrow. "Fine. What is it?"

"Gil'ead." Eragon paused. He did not want to draw this out, but she deserved a full explanation. "Please let me explain the … situation there first." He paused, waiting for her to agree. Arya looked astonished.

"Wasn't that a rhetorical question?" she said, large-eyed.

"No."

"All right," she said, looking confused, "fine. Explain."

"Gil'ead is not an easy fortress for a new force to keep. The lake on the side provides space for attacks from boats, but it also allows the ones inside to get supplies into it. And there is flat ground around it, because it is built on a small hill. The Empire were camping on the flat ground. The weather prevented your m - the elves' attack all winter.

"A week ago, after we had arrived, Saphira and I lead half of the troops out; we were out in seconds, and the Empire had bad defence. They were hungry and weak, and ridden with disease and lice …" Eragon worked his jaw, drawing breath. "We burned most of them. They were only farmers' sons and workers conscripted to fight. They were badly prepared." He could still see the face of a thin lad, barely sixteen, as he died of a gut wound on the blood-soaked field. Arya twitched towards him, as if wanting to come closer. But she did not.

"I know. I have seen battle fields before."

"Yes, but this was odd, in that there have been a lot of battles there, and the ground is covered in old bunkers and camp sites. Anyway … soon both we, and the Empire were fighting in knots, in various places. Saphira and I tried to help each commander, but we were commanders, in turn. There was a Lord of one of the Houses here - we did not reach him in time, and we were there at his last breath … he was Lord of House Thranduilion …. Did you know him?"

"Adravar ?" Arya said slowly. "Yes, I knew him well. He … he was very old, and we knew him as lore-master of the Riders' age. I am sorry that he is dead." She paused. "Is that what you wanted to tell me? I will tell the Court, if you like."

"No … no, it wasn't that." Eragon teetered on the edge, for a moment, of telling her about Adravar's gift, but did not.

"What, then? If it is so important, then you must tell the Court first. If you don't, they'll probably accuse _you_ of treason, too …" She scowled fiercely. Eragon stared.

"_What_?! They accused _you_ of treason -?"

"No, not me … never mind, I can tell you later."

"All right." Eragon sighed and clasped his hands behind his back. "Arya, your mother led her own troops. She kept them together, but was separated from the main group. The last few magicians found her before we could get to her …"

Arya's face was freezing over, rigid as wood.

"They broke down all her wards, I do not know how. I saw her, I ran to her … Saphira flew as fast as she could, but we could not reach her before the Empire did. We killed them all, and she was alive when we finally found her body. But she died barely moments later. I am sorry."

Arya could have been ice; her eyes were blank, and her hands curled slowly at her side; every part of her froze. From somewhere, a dragon roared; and it was not Saphira.

Now her hand crept to her mouth; her eyes widened, and the fingers trembled. Eragon moved towards her, unsure even if what he was going to do or say. But as he did so, she seemed to awaken.

"But how -?" She broke off, clenched her fists at her side, and took a breath. For the second time, she opened her mouth. "What did she -"

But at this, she halted. Her chest rose and fell quickly, but no tears appeared, so great was her resolve. After another moment, she said, "Please go with Niduen to the Court. Assemble the Lords. Tell them it is deadly important; they will come. As quickly as you can, please."

Silly, proud, amazing elf! She did not have to tell the Court, it was perfectly fine for her to stay, and mourn her mother in silence and peace. "Arya -"

"Do it, Eragon." Her gaze was steely, and all of a sudden, her eyes like flint. Eragon looked at her, worried; she had been so cheerful, and so unguarded with him for so long, that it seemed as if she had always been like this. But now he remembered her cool, stiff ways before Eridor had hatched, and was afraid.

"No! You do not have to do this, you are permitted to mourn her by yourself, and do you think anyone will blame you?! No one else would do this, Arya, and neither do you have to!"

"I will not stay here, just to weep!" she said loudly, but Eragon saw the brightness in her eyes.

"If you want to weep, then weep!"

"_**No**_!" she cried, looking outraged. "No! Have you ever know me to be so weak?"

"It is not weak to be miserable! Would _she_ want you to pretend it never happened?!"

Arya's bright-eyed face blanched. "She is dead," she said flatly. "Dead. She has gone into the void, and she does not know or care what I or anyone else does any more."

Eragon said nothing. He was so sorry for her; but she was wrong. "Don't you want to be true to her memory? Just for - for a day, can't you mourn her in peace?"

"No. I - I am Queen in her place." For a moment her face fell, and Eragon saw the terror that this sentence had incurred in her. "I have to gather my country together - I have to keep them strong, and … I must show them that I am still here, even if … she is not."

Eragon gave in. She was doing it for the right reasons, he thought. "We will gather the Court, but … we will do it for you, should you ask."

Arya stared at him, and though her face had frozen over again, he thought he saw a flicker of gratitude in her eyes. But after a moment, she shook her head. "No. It is for me to do. I owe her that much."

"All right …" Eragon stopped for a moment, as he turned. Arya had not moved. "Do you want Niduen?"

"No. Ask her to come with you," she replied curtly. "I will only be a very few minutes. Please make sure all the court is there by then."

"We will." Eragon turned to go, and did not look back; he was not sure, had he done so, that his resolve would have held.

--

Eragon stood by Saphira, stern-faced and grim. Niduen sat on a root by the throne, and stared unseeing at the doors that had not yet opened to reveal Arya. Eragon had not told her why they were all assembled there.

The Lords and Ladies - though there were only eleven of them left, after thirteen had gone to war with Islanzadi - were all standing stiff and calm; no emotions flickered over their faces.

Then the large doors at the end opened; and it seemed to Eragon that everything stopped, and that Arya and Eridor walked through the doors at a creeping pace. She calmly ascended the Throne, and glanced at Niduen as she went, though she spoke no word and made no gesture of comfort to her cousin who sat blank-faced on another part of the Roots.

"My Lords and Ladies," she began slowly; her voice was calm and measured. Only Saphira saw the flush high on her cheeks, and the faint lines of pink around her blank eyes. "There has been a tragedy at our fortress of Gil'ead, during the battle in which Eragon Shadeslayer and Saphira Bjartskular assisted in. Queen Islanzadi was cornered without any troops by a group of mages. They battered down her defences, and the Empire reached her before any of our army could."

Arya's voice was clear as bell; only Eragon who knew her so well could hear the way it was slightly higher than normal.

"She died before aid could arrive. Eragon Shadeslayer was our representative at her burning. Saphira Bjartskular was for the race of dragons."

Arya looked as if she would have continued with the formalities, but at her words, a convulsive shudder had run through the room. Niduen had sprung, with a soft, wordless cry to her feet, then sunk back to sit on the root, hands over face. All the Lords had gripped their jewelled swords, and uttered cries of shock and sorrow in their melodious voices. Some Ladies had also grasped their weapons, but others had done much the same as Niduen, and sat with miserable faces on their fine seats. Never had Eragon seen any elves quite as despairing as this, even at Oromis's death.

Arya stared down at them, and there was a trace of unease in her face. Eventually a Lord stood, and said with quaking, uncertain voice:

"Will you take the Crown, your Highness?"

Niduen looked up, and there were silvery tears in her eyes. Her expressional was one of a person awoken from a terrible dream to find that waking life was far worse. She and Eragon spoke almost at once, though she was by far quieter than he.

"Lord Relmar, you can not ask that so soon, we are in mourning all of us -"

"For the Gods' sake, leave her be, and wait! A week of mourning is not much to ask -!"

Arya's eyes flickered from Niduen to him, and then back to her cousin who did not care that her tears were clearly visible, who was so much better at showing her feelings than Arya, who was sweeter tempered and loved by her people as much as Arya herself was …

"Princess," said the Lord doggedly, sadly, his proud form sagging, "we must know. We must have some assurance, some semblance of normality …"

Arya's eyes fixed on Niduen. She opened her mouth, about to give her decision, to commit, perhaps, the rest of her life …

"Wait," Eragon said, speaking for the first time, and he walked forward. He fought to keep his face unreadable. "Wait. Before any decisions are made here, you must hear the news I have so far withheld."

He looked to Arya and she granted him permission with a slight tilt of her head. He glanced around at the sorrowing elves surrounding him, and continued.

"The siege of Gil'ead has been defeated; for the first time, the elven force there is unfettered by the Empire. Lord Dathedr has now taken control of the army there. After the burning of Queen Islanzadi, he asked me to ride with them. I could had accompanied them to their final destination."

The room was deadly silent, but Eragon looked only at Arya and the silent, tense Eridor who stood behind her.

"That destination is Uru'Baen."

For the second time a rustle of alarm ran through the room, but this time because of the danger sensed.

"After the battle while we were tending the injured, a human messenger from Lady Nasuada arrived. He was half-dead, but we had his message anyway. The force my brother Roran Stronghammer led to Teirm has succeeded, with the indispensable help of the elves and Urgals that left on my advice from Ceunon, and have taken the city.

"This leaves Uru'Baen the only city not captured by the Varden, dwarves, or elves. But three days ago, the Varden camp stopped their travelling. They had arrived at Uru'Baen. In a week, they will launch their attack. The final, last attack on Galbatorix. And we will go to them."

Several elves jumped up. Niduen's fists were clenched on her skirts in fear. Arya met Eragon's eyes, and they knew at that moment, the other's mind exactly. Terror, fear; Eragon could not suppress it; he had never known such extreme anxiety. Galbatorix, the all-powerful madman …

With an effort, he mastered himself. "The question," he said slowly, "is if Princess Arya and Eridor are coming with us, to the last battle … and if," he asked, voice constricted, "if she will come as a Princess … or a Queen."

Arya did not even seem to breath. Her gaze was caught like a rabbit in a trap on Eragon. The air in the Throne Room almost crackled with tension. But before she could reply, Niduen had risen. Her noble face was streaked with tears, but she held her head high. Her spirit was just as strong as Arya's could ever be.

"Let Arya Drottningu have her mourning period. If Eragon Shadeslayer departs in a week, then I propose …" Here she glanced at Eragon, who gave her no indication of yes or no. "I propose that she has six days of formal mourning. At the end of that period … there must be a decision." Niduen caught Arya's eye defiantly. "Is it approved?"

"Yes," said Arya, speaking for the first time in a long while. Her voice was flat. "It is approved." She glanced down at Niduen, and a flicker of gratitude showed briefly.

"Then the nation must be told." Another Lady Eragon vaguely recognised had stood up, and her clear voice rang out. "All our settlements, and outposts must be told. Send messengers on horses to Ceunon, and I myself with notify our cities and towns in Du Weldenvarden with the mirrors."

"Thank you, Mira," replied Niduen courteously, and the Lady curtsied. But Arya, under cover of this talking that did not require her input, had flitted around to Eridor. She touched his neck softly, and then started to walk. He hung over her, vast, hulking and protective. The elves that had started to talk in low voices amongst themselves fell silent as they passed; they cast their eyes down, and thus started the mourning period of Du Weldenvarden.

But Arya passed through the Throne Room, through Tialdari Hall, and out into the forest, where she climbed onto Eridor's back, light as feather and nimble as squirrel, and he took off. Eragon watched them go from Saphira's side; and he felt old and tired and frightened.

From somewhere came a flash of white and the flap of wings: Blagden swooped from the lofty treetops, and as he dived, he shrieked in his old, cracked voice:

"_Wyrda!__"_

--

Twist, much? Lol! I would at present really, really, appreciate everyone's views of Murtagh? I don't want him to be complete baddy. Also on Brom's seven little words, if anyone has any thoughts on them? Destructive or Healing? I'm still fine-tuning the plans for the last chapters.

Right, I'm sneaking over the caravan, right now …


	54. Six Days of Mourning

I'm going to say a word except to thank all twenty-one reviewers, K? Not one word ... Although, we finally have internet!! I'm doing this from my own living room, at last! Well, my freezing cold front room with quarry tiles and no damp-proofing, but that's another story entirely...

Not one more word!

Chapter Fifty Four.

Six Days of Mourning.

Eragon sat in the window of his study, watching the red sun set over the treetops. This was the fourth time the sun had gone down since Niduen's Six Days of Mourning; but since then, he and Saphira had seen neither hide nor hair of Arya, and even Eridor seemed to have withdrawn into seclusion.

They had decided not to go Uru'Baen until the time was up; as Saphira said, they owed it to Islanzadi, and certainly to Arya. But mostly, Eragon only wanted to be there if Arya wanted to come. However cold she had become, however sad, surely she would remember he was there - and Saphira too …?

Though Saphira occasionally went to catch her food outside the city, Eragon felt no inclination to leave. He had sharpened his hunting knife so that it drew blood almost as neatly as an elven knife would; Daiithil - though it needed no caring for - was oiled, and energy transferred to the jewels in the pommel.

But of course, these had not been very time-consuming tasks. Eragon had spent hour after hour simply reading, from scrolls, and even the books the elves made; anything, anything, to take his mind off the journey that was ahead of them.

He and Saphira did not often speak of it. Eragon would sit by her side, against her warm belly, and they would talk of inconsequential things, such as how Orik's new son was, and what his name would be, and if they had caught the one who poisoned Hvedra in the first place; anything was better than thinking about Uru'Baen.

Was Arya talking about it with Eridor, Eragon sometimes wondered. Or, as seemed most likely to Eragon, had she simply withdrawn into herself and fought down her misery?

Eragon knew Arya very well. All those times when he had not been able to show his feelings for her and so had resorted simply to watching and noticing her he understood her ways of thinking. Eragon was fairly confident that she would think that to cry, or show her grief, was to loose control; and in turn to loose authority.

She was wrong. Eragon remembered how, unwilling to let Brom see his tears after Garrow's death, he would cover his head in the blankets of his sleeping, and cry anyway; if he had not, would it not have been almost a betrayal of Garrow? To mourn him, but not admit it? Garrow would not have appreciated that, not at all.

Niduen had wept outright, on the steps of the Knotted Throne. Eragon had been sorry for her, and he had also seen the look of disapproval Arya had sent her cousin. Arya thought it was unwise to let the nobles know her feelings, for it might give them a grip on her; but Eragon had a vague idea that the nobles liked to know that their monarch had feelings, that she was sad for the loss of Islanzadi. No wonder they were somewhat at sea with Arya.

Arya, the new Queen! Queen Arya, Arya, Queen of the Elven Realm. However way he phrased it, Eragon hated it. She had been so alien, even when he had only known as an elf from the Varden; her lofty station as a Princess was even further away from him: but Queen …! Eragon hoped, with all his heart, that she would not accept it.

And what, he sometimes thought in the dead of night, if she did? It would be almost impossible to let her go to war then. But if she did not, then all her training was wasted; and so was Eridor! He was not a docile, humble consort. He was a dragon, Arya's dragon, and Eragon knew that he would be eternally miserable if he had to live the life of politics he so despised.

Eridor was the rock Eragon and Saphira were pinning their hopes on. If he refused to let her accept the crown, then Eragon was sure she would not - could not - refuse.

But it was always safer not to assume anything when dealing with Arya.

The sun slipped below the trees. Suddenly all was a deep, navy blue; the were lamps of the elves glowed in the distance. Saphira looked up from the bed that was made for her in the study.

_Are you going to sleep now? _she asked patiently. Eragon, legs dangling over the windowsill towards the forest floor fifty feet below, shook his head.

_I'm not tired. Besides … I suppose we should take the opportunity to be peaceful while we can. _

_Yes, _peaceful_; not bone idle, _she replied long-sufferingly.

_I am not idle, _Eragon said absently. _I would go down to the training fields, but there is no one there to spar with. _

_I know. _Saphira sighed. The few elves left in Ellesmera were either too old, or not old enough, to go to war, and were therefore not particularly good at sparring. _Have you seen the vines around Tialdari Hall? _Saphira asked after a moment. _They have all got grey flowers. And the roses in the Queen's garden have all turned black._

_Like when Oromis died, _Eragon said heavily, and glanced at the thin, sweet little brown-and-green vine that crept along his window. It had had before a multitude of mauve flowers that hung grape-like on the stems; now each and every one was grey as the Beor Mountains. He was not sure if the elves did it, or if the plants did so by themselves, but the effect was very sombre indeed.

_Even the plants mourn Islanzadi, _Saphira said sadly. _They must all have loved her very much._

Eragon nodded. He did not want to talk about it. But Saphira carried on:

_This time tomorrow we will be sleeping our last night here for a very long time. I wonder if we will be back?_

Eragon shook his head; he no longer trusted himself to speak. The fear of Galbatorix he had been valiantly keeping at bay for the past five days; and it was a terrifying thing to keep at bay.

_And will Eridor be coming with us? _Saphira continued, more to herself than to Eragon. He noticed the lack of Arya's name.

_Gods above, Saphira, _he said suddenly, and his voice was hollow; _what if somehow she accepts? Imagine Arya a Queen, and poor Eridor confined forever to the courts … _

_It will never happen, _said Saphira fiercely. _No dragon has ever been tied to mortal politics like a dog on a chain, and I will die a coward's death before I let it happen to Eridor._

Eragon clenched his jaw. He felt much the same about Arya. Even if they did survive the next week, then there was no chance that he would let Arya fall into the webs of politics she had so long been an ambassador to; never. Not when her chance to be free was so close by; and Eridor's with it.

_If they do come with us, _he said after a long pause, _who will take over leadership?_

_Whoever is next in line for the Throne … I think that is Evadarr, Niduen's father._

_Hm, _said Eragon disapprovingly. He had no idea of the conversations Arya and her uncle had had recently, and was still under the notion that Evadarr was not to be let near the Throne Room at any cost. _From worse to worse._

_Well,_ I _don't care, _said Saphira loudly; her voice thrummed with the fire that boiled inside her. _Leave the elves to their politics. Eridor shall be no part of it. And I know how it can be avoided, if we have to intervene - just in case Arya accepts the crown._

_Oh yes? _said Eragon, eyebrows raised; he swung his legs back inside the sill, and stared at Saphira. _What plan?_

She snorted, and a small blue flame flickered from inside her nostrils. _Galbatorix has destroyed this land in the last century, has he not? And he managed it all with his dragon. Now he is the only Rider ever to be a monarch; and that is how we shall campaign to have it stay. We will let it be known that a Rider with that much power - and entire kingdom in their grasp - is dangerous. I am sure the nobles, and all the other leaders will agree, in time. _

_I expect so, _said Eragon slowly. _It would be a clever trick to play, certainly … and it would work … _He stood up, finally tired. _I hope it never comes to that, though, Saphira._

_Neither do I, little one, _she said sombrely. _But I hope, at least, that we will have the chance._

Eragon went to stand by her side, and put his hand on her neck, leaning his weight on her massive muscles; they fell into silence, glad of the other's company, but not in the mood for any more talking.

The night sky was falling even deeper into darkness. Eragon and Saphira remained at the window long into the night, and the moon had risen fully before they finally slept.

--

A cold, wet wind was blowing through the walls of Bellaen's long, stout house. Niduen rested her head on his shoulder, and stared at the slowly-steaming kettle. His arms were close around her waist, and she was glad of his company.

"Aren't you going back to your cousin?" Bellaen asked quietly. Niduen shook her head.

"I told her I was staying with you. I think I would not be helpful to her now."

"But surely she will want someone with her?" he said gently.

"Not Arya. Certainly not." Niduen sighed. "Arya would never, never show any weakness in front of anybody. Even with me, she is closed about things that she is passionate about. If she wants to mourn her mother, she will want to do so in solitude. If she weeps for her … she will do it when no one will ever know."

"But she has Eridor," Bellaen said comfortingly.

"Yes. He is the only living being in this world that Arya would ever love freely." But even as she said it, Niduen felt a flicker of uncertainty in her words. Arya had some kind of feelings for Eragon, in a way that she had for no one else. Yet, as far as Niduen knew, she had never stirred outside the house since that day in Court. Not even to see Eragon.

"Then she must be lonely," said Bellaen. "Why does she hide herself away? She has you, and Eragon Shadeslayer, and your father."

"It has always been that way with Arya. I … I suppose it is just the way she is."

Now Bellaen sighed. He knew well the mixed feelings Niduen had towards Arya. "But tomorrow is the last Day of Mourning. She must make her decision."

"I know," Niduen said, head cushioned on his chest. "And tomorrow I will go to her … but I have my own mourning to do."

Bellaen pulled her close against him, and kissed the top of her dark head. Niduen closed her eyes; and as always happened when held in his arms, she could feel her troubles melting away. But outside, the wind howled; it was conjuring a storm to Ellesmera.

--

Eragon dropped his quill, and gave up. It was impossible to write while his house waved about like a branch in the wind, and even less when he was not remotely interested in writing, either.

He looked up, seeing his blue-tinged lamps swaying as the wind tossed his entire house plunging toward the ground for the hundredth time; and then grabbed the desk as it sprang back up, for what seemed the thousandth time.

_Little one, your quiver has fallen out of its cupboard, _said Saphira, who had chosen to remain in the main part of the house, for it was far too dangerous for her to fly; the winds were stronger than any Eragon had ever known.

_Urgh, _he replied. _I wonder, does everybody else have this problem whenever there is storm here?_

_Most other people, Eragon, _Saphira said acidly, _do not put so many things in their cupboard that they burst open at the slightest touch!_

Eragon sighed, and lifted his eyes towards the wooden ceiling. _All right, I'll come and tidy it up … I have to put the ink away, wait a moment … _

Eragon carefully stood up, swaying with the tree, and deliberately placed the glass stopper in the neck of the bottle, then stowed it under the lid of the desk. He collected the the papers and bits of parchments, and went to find an unused cupboard to put them in, then went to douse the lamps -

_OPEN THE SCREEN! LET ME IN!_

It was not Saphira, but a dragon roared. Eragon unhesitatingly, unquestioningly, bounded down the short staircase and out in the main room of the house, then leapt over his bed, and wrenched the material that stopped the storm from entering the house back from its hooks on the wall.

The storm rushed in, sending blankets, papers, precious arrows flying, and almost Eragon as well. He ducked behind the wall, and Saphira, too heavy to be lifted by the wind, looked out. A dark shape appeared against the black, waving branches, and with a whoosh, it clattered into Saphira's bed.

"Eridor! What are you doing here? You can't _fly_ in this weather -"

Eridor straightened up and glanced about with his usual calm stare. His sides were dripping with wet, and his breath steamed.

_You'd better close that, or everything will get wet, _he said, unperturbed. Eragon opened his mouth to argue, but hailstones were pelting his face and clothes; icy water fell from the roof. He felt for the edge of the screen and at the same time felt for Eridor's mind, as Arya was not there to translate.

"Eridor, what are you doing here?" He pulled the screen across, and almost fell over with the sudden change. "And where is -"

_Arya is coming, _he replied, his voice deep, unreadable.

"What?" Eragon said, heart quickening. "Why?"

_Many reasons, but none that __I will say. _

"Eridor, for goodness' sake, look at the weather! You shouldn't even have been flying, you could have been killed -!"

_I didn't say the reasons were mine, _Eridor objected mildly. _But I don't want to be a Queen's consort any more than __**she**__ wants to be Queen._

A cold hand seemed to clutch Eragon's heart. "Is she taking it?"

Eridor turned his head, and stared at Eragon. Water dripped down his face and flanks. _I do not know._

Eragon sighed. "Right," he said. "Where is she, and I will go and find her …"

_No need. She is here now. _

The trap door banged; but at the same time, another gust of wind bent the tree back down, and the doors of Eragon's cupboard swung open; a leather pouch full of chemicals in glass bottles flew from the top shelf and smashed among the fallen arrows. Then with a horrible lurch, the house sprang back to its proper position. Eragon tripped on an arrow, grabbed at the wardrobe door to steady himself, and it promptly broke if its hinges.

Eridor had dug his claws into the floor to steady himself, and Saphira had ducked back inside the walls of her curved bed. Eragon scraped the jagged edges of the broken bottles to one side, and held his hand over his face as he did so: one of the chemicals was chloroform, a substance used by Healers who were not proficient at magic to subdue an injured person. But the vapours were undiluted, and they made his eyes blur and sting.

He held his breath, and swept the pieces of glass away, but the liquid spread. Eragon looked away, eyes burning, and moved away: he would need water and soap to clear it away; and when his sight had cleared, he realised what he was staring at.

Arya.

She was wetter than him by far, and in the ensuing silence, Eragon could hear the water dripping from her clothes and onto the wooden floor. Her hair was loose, but tangled and it straggled down her back in a dark mass. As he watched, the chloroform still causing his mind to spin a little, she reached up and wiped her damp face with a sleeve that was heavy with water.

"Arya …" the chemicals burned his lungs, but he knew it would soon go. "What are you doing here?"

She stared at him. He could see the moonstones of her belt glinting in the light of his few lamps, and they caught the glint of her eyes; but she said nothing. The water dripped, dripped, on the floor.

The vapours had lost their effect. Eragon stood and gazed with clear eyes on Arya. She wore no sword, nor did she have a cloak or hood, or even a thick tunic. She simply stood in the doorway, eyes glinting with no recognisable emotion, drip, drip, dripping.

It was not a normal thing for Arya to look so small and forlorn. Eragon stepped towards her, and gestured to the darkened room behind him, where Saphira and Eridor waited, their scales flashing in the lamp by his bed.

"Come in, you will freeze …"

She stared at him still, but moved past him anyway, back stiff, and hands clenched. As she moved, Eragon could feel the cold that seemed to surround her.

_Saphira, will you please light the fire, _he said quietly, although he knew Eridor could hear. But before she could do so, Eridor had stretched out his neck, and found the fireplace. Then, with a whoosh of breath, fire burst from his mouth, past the long white fangs and roared into the ash-grey fireplace.

_WHAT?!_

Eragon leapt back in shock; Saphira crouched in her bed, and her wings lifted, obscuring the light.

_Eridor - how long -?! _

_Days. _

"Why didn't you tell us?" Eragon asked quietly. "We would have been so glad - so proud - I … why -?"

Eridor stared back at him, eyes expressionless, demeanour as collected as ever. But he did not answer.

_Well? _said Saphira, her voice a little strangled; Eragon could feel the betrayal she felt, the loss of not being able to see Eridor's first bout of fire. She had trained him for so long, cared for him, loved him …

"It was me." Arya's hand twitched as if she wanted to reach out; but she did not. "I didn't want him to … at that time"

"So," said Eragon, voice constricted, "now is not that time any more, I take it?"

She glared at him; but her gaze was not the heated, fiery one he was used to; it was hard and calculating, almost reptilian in nature. "I did not want to come here, either. Eridor m … persuaded me."

"I see." Eragon glanced at the crackling fire, and felt confused. He turned to look at Arya, but her eyes were closed, and her face … her face had always been able to become as stiff as a block of marble. "But Eridor is breathing fire, Arya! Fire! How long have we waited? It would have been one thing to be glad about in all this miserable time! Saphira has - she has trained with him and helped him and … and you could not be bothered to come and tell us this?"

Arya's face seemed to pale amid its icy pinkness. "Eridor is now deemed old enough to go to war in the rules of the Riders! Do you find that something to celebrate?"

"It is an advantage, something to keep you both alive," said Eragon, meeting her cold gaze. "You are both lucky, you are far better protected and more experienced than ever Saphira and I were, at our first battle."

"I do not find it something to be grateful for!" Arya said fiercely, and her voice sounded strangled. "_You_ are lucky we are still here; who would stop us if we decided to go, far away, and leave you to your wars?!"

Her voice broke, and she fell silent, eyes flashing, not with anger, but with some feeling Eragon had never, never seen on Arya. He could not even place it.

"You would not do that," he said, eyes narrowed, heart beating quicker than normal.

"No!" She started to speak, but stopped, and swallowed. "No, we would not. We are staying, because of duty. Duty! But when has duty ever been good to us?"

"Duty is only as much as you challenge yourself to do. You stay because you are not a coward."

"I stay because of my duty," she replied, in short, abrupt tones. "My duty … to my people …"

"So, you are taking the crown. You will be a Rider and a Queen."

"No -!" The tiny, frightened cry burst from her involuntarily. "No, what I meant was - I did not - I … I really, I don't know …!" Her hands trembled and the pulse in her white neck beat quickly.

Eragon said nothing; he had suddenly identified the look in her eyes; it was despair. Cold, grey despair. Pity swelled inside him. She still stood on the edge of the circle of firelight, wet and white and forlorn. He did not have the heart to continue the conversation.

"Go and sit by the fire … please …" he turned away, not waiting to see if she would do so, and went to the linen cupboard - still intact, being situated far from his bed and not harmed by any chemicals - and gathered together as many towels and soft blankets as he had. Of course, Arya would say that elves did not catch colds, and did not need to worry about spring chills and fevers, but this time he would simply ignore her. Spring chills, maybe not, but pneumonia, most certainly.

Arya had not sat down. Eragon stared at her over his bundle of linens. "Sit down," he said firmly, "or you will catch you death from something or other."

"No, I am going home," she said resolutely.

"Not in this weather you are not."

"Yes, I am. I don't need … blankets and sweets and comforters like a child, or your permission." She looked immeasurably haughty as she said this; aloof. Eragon dropped the linens on a low, cushioned couch, and folded his arms. He was quite equal to that.

"If you suddenly took the trouble to come here in the middle of the worst storm I have seen in years, without proper clothing on and without any wards, then why must you leave barely five minutes after you arrive? We have not seen you in days, and there is plenty we must talk about."

"Oh, is there? I do not remember agreeing to fight with the Varden at Uru'Baen, and Eridor has not said so either. There is more to life than fighting."

"I know that! I know it better than anything, Arya! But sometimes …" he paused, choosing his words carefully. "Sometimes … you have to fight … to live the next day."

"But we -" by this, Eragon knew she meant all four of them, and not just her and Eridor "-we may not survive." And there was a despair in her voice; she could see clearly the possible events of the next few days, the carnage and slaughter and misery; and perhaps the annihilation of the Varden, and all its supporters. And Galbatorix's rise, undefeated, supreme, unchallenged forever …

"I know." He could hold himself as aloof as she; and he was frightened, too; he reached out and grasped the sodden sleeves that covered her upper arms. She recoiled slightly from his touch, though he did not hold her hard. "But someone else will. Perhaps hundreds of other people will, and the dwarves will walk abroad and trade with all those they lost contact with long ago; and the elves … your people … you will have your freedom, your cities and citadels of the old days, and you will bring beauty to places that have never seen it in a hundred long years. And perhaps … perhaps there will be dragons, too."

Arya stared at him. Her eyes were wide, and bright, and flashed in the light of the fire. "Is that truly what you believe?" she whispered, her eyes scanning his face intensely and ending on his own eyes that had never left hers.

"It is the only thing," he replied, almost whispering, but for his voice was too deep to manage it the way Arya did, "that has kept us going … for so long."

A strange smile came to her lips, but it trembled and fell. She dropped her gaze and stared at the floor below their feet; yet almost as if of their own accord, her hands came up and grasped the corners of his outstretched arms. Eragon jumped a little; although her hands were cold, and her touch feather-light, it sent a thrill of some crackling, hot feeling down his spine.

"I wish I believed it as well."

"Why can't you?" Eragon's hands twitched on her muscled arms. "It was less than beliefs that made Brom create the Varden, or the first Eragon to make the Riders. Why can it not be good enough for you, as well?"

She hesitated, and did not look up even when she answered. "_I _don't have any visions of the future, Eragon. None at all, and I never have. That is how _I _have survived so long. I have not thought about the future, or dreamed of better times, nor have I dwelt in the past … or tried not to. _I_ kept fighting because that was how I could avenge my father. It wasn't _hope, _Eragon! It was hatred, and I find it a hard habit to break."

"Everybody hates," Eragon said stoically. "Everybody."

Arya made a dismissive noise. "Perhaps. But I hated every_thing. _I hated the Forsworn, Galbatorix for killing my father, for destroying my people and my realm; I hated the Empire for the battles I had fought in; and Durza, I was frightened of, yes, but …" she frowned slightly as she said it, and glanced down again; Eragon knew she was ashamed to admit it, and wondered why she had done so. "But I remembered how he had killed Faolin and Glenwing, and then I found I could fight him for longer … I withstood torture no one else could, elf or human."

Now Eragon's hands tightened on her arms. He, too, remembered too well the injuries that had been inflicted upon Arya. "It is good that you did."

"Yes, but you see?" She looked back up at him, and the sadness was once more replaced with despair; and anguish. "Hate kept me alive. Hate saved my secrets from being discovered. Hate made me fight for seventy years … and only since Eridor hatched … have I ever begun to change."

"Then keep changing. Don't believe that about yourself, Arya, because you have changed already." She did not look up. "Would the Arya I duelled that first time in Farthen Dur have travelled halfway across the world to save one woman? Or held a baby, and soothed it? Or … or moved heaven and earth to have justice done for Niduen?"

Arya shook her head, and made a faint scoffing sound. She released his elbows, but Eragon held tighter to her.

"Perhaps she would have done; but not with fire that you did them with, or the compassion, or the sympathy. I am not sure how much is down to Eridor, and how much to yourself; but I suppose it is one and the same, is it not?"

Arya raised her head and stared across at the silent dragons; and the love in her eyes was pure and vibrant and living. "Yes," she said thickly. "Yes, it is."

"You see? I never saw the other Arya look that way at anybody."

"Eragon …"

"It is true. You have not fought humans since he hatched for you; but you have done very much else. You did not boil with hatred when you healed Hvedra, or as you held her son, did you?"

Arya's body sagged, and Eragon could not understand it. When she looked at him again, it was with pain all over her pale face. "You think I am someone I am not … you are blinded, Eragon."

"Then you underestimate me." Eragon loosened his hold on her, and placed his palms flat on her arms. "I do not say anything I do not mean."

"And you do not understand me completely, then." Arya brought her icy hand to her face, pressing her fingers tightly to her forehead in a rare, rare show of vulnerability.

"Then you must make me, because I thought I understood you." Her skin was cold under his hands. Before she had lowered her fingers from her face, Eragon managed to steer her slightly to the side, so that they stood in the warmth of the roaring fire. "I _do_ understand you, Arya."

"No, no, you don't. Because I hated _her …_" her chin trembled, and the hollow in her throat swelled and dropped as she swallowed. Still her fingers hid her eyes. "For a very … long … time …"

"Oh, Arya …" Eragon was sorry for her, so filled with pity, that now his hold became more of an embrace, and she leaned in so very slightly to him. He could feel her limbs trembling, too. "Arya, I am so, so sorry …"

Her head dropped a little further. "I cannot remember the last words I spoke to her. And I did not see her body, nor perform the Last Rites, as is customary … I should have spread the incense at her burning, and scattered her ashes … I should have spoken the last words as she was moved onto the pyre." Her voice broke, and caught; Eragon knew that she was no stranger to the funeral rites of her people.

Eragon could say nothing; he could only hold her slightly closer, and stare at her beautiful face, flushed pink with the sudden heat of the fire; her hair was drying now, and tiny curls sprang from the base of her neck, and around her forehead; and Eragon thought she was beautiful, and so sad; but she said not one word, and stared ahead at him; the only sound was the crackling fire.

"I spent seventy years despising my mother," she said eventually; her voice trembled, and her lips twitched; she blinked quickly in quick succession. "And then she died - alone - at a war _I _should have been fighting in - without anyone to ease her suffering … and …" her voice broke, and when she spoke again it was in a low, pained whisper, "… I never once told her … how much I cared for her … not once …"

Her lips trembled; her eyes darted from right to left, from Eragon's chest, to his chin, and then to the floor. Her limbs shook slightly, and Eragon could feel them. His hands dropped, and groped instinctively for hers. And when he found them, he caught them and held them softly. Her breath halted, and he could hear, for they were very close.

"She never even knew I was a Rider … She never knew Eridor …" Arya's head sagged forward, and she leaned towards him; his arms crept around her waist, and she rested her forehead on his shoulder; he thought she may have, for once, allowed herself to weep.

The firelight washed her cheek orange, and little lights danced in her drying hair; Eragon could feel her trembling ever so slightly as she lay against the shoulder of his shirt; his arms that encircled her waist pulled her closer and tighter, for he could find no other way of comforting her.

Her body was close against his; he could feel her clear-cut brows, and delicate mouth against the skin of his neck, and her light breath that whispered across his chest. Her eyes were closed; and translucent tears washed about her long eyelashes, though she did not let them fall. Eragon turned his head, so he could see her whole face, and said quietly, "She was not alone."

She did not react, but her lips parted slightly. The shiny tears quivered on the verge of falling as her eyelids twitched.

"Saphira and I heard her cry for help. We went there, and - we killed them all, Arya. She was still alive then; I knelt down by her, and I tried to help her, I … laid her on my cloak, covered her body, and raised her off the mud. But the spells that had been used were too strong, they were black magic ..."

Arya did not move; her body had become stiff. "But she was very calm, Arya. She did not cry with the pain, or the fear of what might happen; she looked at me, and Saphira, and said that she was not afraid of the void."

Arya blinked; her eyes opened; the tears pooled around her lids, but her mouth was set in a resolute line; Eragon held her close, knowing that the Arya he knew and loved so very much was present again.

"She told me that the only thing she regretted was leaving you … and she wanted you to know that she loved you, and that she hoped you had forgiven her."

Eragon felt her lips twist, so soft on his neck; her breath traced unseen patterns on his skin, and slowly her hands reached out from her sides; where before she had been standing limp in his arms, now her own hands lifted to lay on his encircling arms; and they seemed to burn though the sleeves of his shirts.

"Thank you," she whispered, and her hands moved higher; and she gently circled her arms around his neck, though still her face was hidden. Eragon stiffened. "I … cannot say what that means to me … I … Thank you, Eragon."

"You don't have to say it … you know you don't …" His arms tightened, and her hair brushed his chin.

"But let me … please."

"You know I would do anything for you," Eragon whispered. Arya swallowed, and her breath caught for a moment. "Anything. And I … will always, always be here, Arya. Always."

She nodded, her head turned to one side, cushioned on his chest, hair rustling softly; Eragon felt almost as if time had stopped; how had this happened, this impossible thing, how was she here …?

"I _do _know." Her fingers twitched where they clasped about his neck; the firelight flickered in her eyes and danced across her cheeks. "I do know … now. But … I still don't understand you … you never owed me anything in particular … and you still do not, yet you stay here, with us …"

"Can't you think of any reason … for that?" said Eragon, his voice very low. Arya slowly turned her head, and looked up at him.

She shook her head. "I rejected you … and it does not seem to upset you any more, you -"

"You wanted to be sure I had given up my feelings for you," Eragon interrupted, looking down, directly into her eyes, eyes that were now so much clearer, "and I learnt to hide them, to make you happy." His voice became so low that the fire crackled above it. "You thought I did not care any more." She was so close he could see her every eyelash and the flecks of hazel in the irises of her green eyes. "But I had not."

Her breath, feather-light, tickled and danced across his face; she lifted her gaze to stare at him, and her eyes were solemn, the lines of her face taught; expectant. "Is that truth?" Her whisper was so faint that Eragon came yet closer.

"You know it is," he returned softly; and as he spoke she was closer than ever, and he could the feel the warmth of her skin; still more slowly their faces came together, noses, cheeks; and then her lips were on his, and his arms clutched her closer to him; her clasped hands about his neck brought him to her, and all Eragon knew was Arya, her scent, her feel, her lips and her soft hair.

The storm raged outside in Ellesmera; the rain ran down the roof of Vrael's old house, and thunder rolled and rumbled around the sky; lightning flashed; it illuminated the whole of the darkened city, each and every pine and boulder; and the wind tossed the whole house like a twig in a stream; but inside that house, for now, there was only Arya, and Eragon; and for each, the other.

--

Still not saying anything ...


	55. Decisions

522 reviews! Goodness me, I don't know what to make of it! As long as this lives up to expectations ... which I _really _hope it does ...

Chapter Fifty Five.

Decisions.

The fire had long since burnt low, and now the pale morning sun shone rather weakly on the three inhabitants of Lord Vrael's old house: two dragons were curled tightly together, tails intertwined, sides squashed together inside a bed made for one colossal dragon, not two, and from both noses the occasional wisp of smoke curled.

And Eragon was fast asleep; his arm hung limply in an odd position, as if it had been held around something, but that something was gone; and around the low couch he slept on were scattered arrows, bits of glass, and blankets that lay haphazard on the furniture.

Even though the sunlight filtered through parts of the screen windows, most of them were pulled tight across with the strong grey fabric, and still they dripped with the terrible rain of the previous night. A blackbird sang on top of the house; a kite screeched high in air above, looking for an early breakfast; but none of these could wake Eragon. It was only when Eridor opened his eyes that anything in the house moved.

First he glanced at Saphira, and his hard, sharp eyes immediately softened. Had it not been for Eragon moving just then, Eridor would have stayed and stared at Saphira for hours on end. But then he moved to the right, and his eyes fixed on the empty fire that he had lit to such effect last night; and then to Eragon.

He snorted; he tried to sit up but was tightly entwined with Saphira, and could only look and speak. He stared in surprise at the trap door that was letting in the morning light, and that was also - open. Then he growled, and smoke roiled form his nostrils. He shoved Saphira in the ribs, and woke her speedily up.

Saphira took only one sleepy moment to decide what had happened.

_**Eragon! **_

A knife appeared from somewhere in his hands, but he still looked tired.

_What - _

He did not finish; the knife fell. "Where is Arya?"

_Going. _Eridor's eyes had not lost their softer look, and they did not harden as he looked at Eragon. _Going, but not gone._

It did not take long. Before either dragon could so much as sit up, the trap door had banged, fallen shut, and the house fallen into semi-darkness again. Saphira sighed.

_Well, I can't open screen doors; can you?_

_No, _said Eridor.

_Trapped, _said Saphira.

Had Eridor been able to, he would have frowned.

_Yes._

--

Eragon emerged from the covered staircase, and stared around, heart still pounding; where had she gone, why had she gone, and without Eridor?

Everything was very still; there was a heaviness in the air, as if the rain had weighed all the plants down, and muffled the noises of the animals. But it was almost too still; Eragon took a careful step forward, and listened.

From the left there came a faint rustling, and the scrape of bramble thorns against clothes; Eragon instantly turned that way, following a path he knew as leading to a West Wing of Tialdari Hall, eventually. He turned unhesitatingly towards it, and ran.

He ran, and he caught her; rounding a large redwood fir tree, he saw a flash of black that disappeared behind some ancient hazels.

"Arya!"

She stopped; when she emerged from behind the trees, he saw that she had a most peculiar expression on her face. "What do you want? I have to -"

"Where are you going?" he demanded, hurt and worried. Arya's face contorted, a look of some anguish on her face.

"Back to Tialdari Hall." And as she said this, she turned to go. Eragon leapt forward, and caught her hand.

"Why do you go? It is barely dawn."

"Have you forgotten? The Six Days of Mourning are finished. There will be a new ruler confirmed today."

Eragon felt almost as if someone had taken the breath from his lungs. He stared at Arya, miserable, and also very much surprised.

"Are you going to take it?" His voice was no more than a whisper. Arya tried to twist away from him, her face screwed up in anguish and in guilt.

"Don't I have to, though?" she said hollowly, and stopped trying to move away from him. Her eyes were wide.

"If you had to, we would not be here, and there would be no decision to make." Eragon caught her gaze and held it. A faint trace of red rose to her cheeks. Perhaps she was thinking of the previous night, as was he.

"Then it is easy for you, but not so for me. I cannot let my parents' kingdom fall into the hands of anyone untested or untried - and they are my people Eragon! Not yours, or the Varden's - not even Eridor's - they are mine." She blinked. "I must look after them, for no one else will."

Eragon stared at her, and she met his eyes, her own filled not with the resolve to do as she said she would, but with misery and indecision. Eragon took a breath, and said, "If you are resolved, then … it is your decision of course it is, Arya … then we will offer no further objections, and will support you as Queen."

Arya looked even more unhappy. "Oh, no, don't you d -"

"But - just wait here for a moment, all right? There is something I can show you - give you - to change your mind. Just - wait here, please."

Arya opened her mouth, looking bewildered, but Eragon had already dashed back up the bramble-strewn path with a reassuring look and a quick smile. She started to call after him, but he was gone very quickly, so she frowned after him, and leaned against the large redwood to wait.

--

Eragon's return to Arya was rather slower than his departure. He held the long, vaguely cross-shaped bundle in his arms, and was careful not to break the thick linen bandaging around it. As he went, he heard the beats of Saphira and Eridor's wings as they left his house; he had forgotten to open the screen doors and let them out; as a result, they were really quite grumpy.

"Arya?"

She was still there, leaning against the great girth of the fir tree, arms folded and frowning at a stand of hazel trees. She glanced up when he came back, and their eyes met; and he remembered their kiss, and wished that she had gone away that morning.

"This is yours, Arya. It was entrusted to me in Gil'ead."

"What, gifts and tokens of strangers' sorrow?" she said scornfully, her body stiff and brittle. Eragon ignored her, for he knew this was her way of keeping any unknown situation under control. "I do not need them."

"It is not a token, and not from a stranger. It is from Adravar, Lord, after the passing Oromis, of House Thranduilion."

"Adravar is dead," she said, looking surprised. "How did he -"

"I was by his side in the infirmary as he died. He asked for me to see him. I had never met him before, though I knew him by sight. But he gave this to me, and told me that it was to be given to the Rider who was bonded with the last dragon egg. With Eridor. He did not know about you."

Arya glanced at him, then at the bundle. "What is it?"

For answer, Eragon held it out to her, wrapped as it was in swathes of linen and sheepskin. "It is for you," he repeated.

Arya stared at him, her gaze a little hesitant, but also curious. After a long moment she took it, and held it herself. "Why do you give to me now? Presents will not make me desert my people or my duty."

"Perhaps it will make you see," said Eragon softly, lowering his head to see her fully, "that there are better ways of serving your people that chaining yourself and your dragon to the crown."

Arya gave a bitter smile that faltered and fell when she met his eyes. Instead she turned away from him, fingering her bundle and touching it gingerly. Eragon waited in silence for her to come to her decision.

And she did so, after another long moment. Slowly, her long fingers unpicked the rough twine that bound it, and peeled away the linen. There was a thick roll of sheepskin around it, but as Eragon knew she would, Arya felt the shape of thing underneath, and froze for moment, eyes wide. Then she pulled the skins of it, and almost dropped the forest green sword that lay in her hands.

"Eragon!" she exclaimed, perhaps to surprised to say anything else; he watched her carefully as she traced the lines of the blade, the sculpted hilt and curved cross guard of that graceful weapon. "Eragon, how - how can this be? It -"

"It is the last Riders' sword yet unclaimed," he said. "It was made by Rhunon herself many decades ago, and after the Fall was entrusted to Lord Adravar. It belonged long ago to his brother, who died at the slaughter of Doru Areaba. Adravar was the only one to survive it, for he was only a foot soldier. He endured many hardships to return to Du Weldenvarden, and to retain the sword. He always meant to keep it for the right Rider."

Arya listened, but still stared at the sword: and it was a beautiful sword. The blade was a clear forest green, the colour exactly of Eridor's scales, and, though wide at the top, tapered to a slightly slimmer point. The hilt was a bright silver, painstakingly welded to form the winding likeness of a Liani Vine; and the vine twisted around the hilt, leaves and buds frozen in place all way, and eventually flowered in the corners of the curved cross guard.

And on the crest of the hilt was an emerald, not oval and large as were the rubies in the hilt of ill-fated Za'roc, or the sapphires in Daiithil's pommel, but a perfect circle, cut into so many facets that each reflected a different kind of light, and the jewel itself ended in a slight, sharp tip; and for the centre of each Liani flower was a different tiny gem: rubies, rose-quartz and little striped tigers-eyes, all cut in miniature the same pattern as the large emerald. Though none were as large or numerous as Daiithil's, the workmanship was finer, more delicate and very beautiful.

Eragon watched Arya trace her fingers over the twisting vine, feeling the tiny gems and then the emerald on the pommel; he had seen the sword before, when Adravar had shown it to him, and then had it all packaged up; but Arya's expression showed absolute wonder, and her eyes shone. They were, Eragon saw, the exact colour of the long blade she held, and shone far more brightly than the jewels did.

"It is beautiful, Eragon. Very, very beautiful."

"I know."

"I did not think I would ever see a sword to rival my own, but this …" She paused, and did not finish. Eragon watched her still as she took it from its silver-inlaid sheath and lifted it, testing it for balance. As Eragon knew it would, it lay on her forefinger only, the long blade exactly the counteracting weight of the silver pommel. And then suddenly she threw it into the air. It whirled high into the sky, flashing in the morning sunlight, the jewels, the silver and the blade all glinting at different intervals; and it came spinning back down, hilt first, as all good swords should, and Arya caught it, her hand lifting as quickly as the sword had done.

She laughed, a wild, exhilarated laugh, and turned smiling to Eragon, eyes sparkling and glinting with joy.

"I thank you, Eragon, for bringing this to us." She lifted it and gazed at it. "I have never seen nor held a more perfect weapon."

He bowed his head briefly. "She is named Enëlya."

Arya looked up at him, a slightly mystified smile on her lips as she spoke the name in the Ancient Language. "Grace? Why … Grace?"

"Every Rider's sword was unique," he replied. Arya's face glowed, and her lips turned upwards, though she was not smiling. "I do not know why Adravar's brother chose Enëlya as a name. But Rhunon made it … she would know."

"I would ask her, was there time." Her smile faded. She looked up, and met Eragon's eyes, and they both remembered what today was; the Last Day of Mourning, the day of Arya's choice …

"I'm going back to Tialdari Hall," she said quickly and abruptly, and turned away; but Eragon reached out and caught her hand, stopping her from going.

"What are you going to do?" he demanded. She opened her mouth, but did not reply for a moment.

"I can't," she said, shaking her head, and trying to twist out of his grip.

"Can't what?"

"I can't … I can't …" She glared at him, furious and also, he could see, rather scared by what she was saying. "_Eragon_ …!"

"Please, listen to me." He moved forward to her, still clutching her hand tightly. "Please."

"Don't say anything," she whispered. "I have to choose by myself … _we_ have to choose ourselves, me and Eridor."

"Then what does he say?" Eragon whispered, too. Her mouth twisted.

"I don't know … he won't say a word about it. I won't do anything … until I know what he wants, what he thinks … but he will not speak to me about it, he has not for days …!"

Eragon could hear the desperation in her voice, the misery; he held her arms now, not tightly, but as some sort of comfort; and she leaned in to him, and she quivered with held in emotions.

"Why not?" he said softly. She shook her head, and he could feel her soft hair moving against his throat.

"I don't know. He just … wouldn't."

_I was not trying to hurt you. _Eridor suddenly entered her head and broadcast their words to Eragon as well; _But it was your quandary. Your family's country. I wanted it to be your choice, because I knew … otherwise … you would never be free … _

Arya did not reply; her mouth was set in a resolute line, and Eragon could feel her blinking, and the delicate brush of her eyelashes against this skin.

_I do not want to be a Queen's pet consort; but you must decide in your own mind what is the best course of action; it must be your own decision, because otherwise you will forever be hampered by the feeling that you took the wrong advice, even if it was from me. I know what you are going to do. I always knew. I was waiting for someone else to be there when you decided._

Eragon coloured, and Arya did as well; no wonder Saphira and Eridor had been so quiet; and no wonder Eridor had not said a word all morning. Though Arya was so close, and he was so sorry for the choice that lay before her, he could not help smiling for a moment; Eridor had lived up to his and Saphira hopes and expectations, and soared beyond them as well.

Arya sighed. It sounded very odd, for only a minute ago she had been hissing in anguish. She rested her head on his shoulder, almost, it seemed to him, naturally, and did not say anything. So instead he put his arms around her waist, and held her warm and close; and she did not say a word.

He had never noticed before how very, very much he loved her until now, when it was no longer just a broken dream; and she was so soft, and warm, and sweet that he wished they could stay like that forever; and she still did not move, did not speak.

He wondered what she was thinking about, what she was going to do; Enëlya the sword was still held in her hand, and the scabbard in the other. Eragon laid his head on her sweet hair, and waited.

And he waited, patiently, for many long minutes. And then, with another deep breath, she said, "I am going to refuse it."

"Good." Eragon blew out in utter relief. "Good."

"No, it is not good!" she exclaimed, frowning at him. "I have to find someone to replace me - or just leave it to the Court, which is ridiculous, or let it fall to the next in line to the Throne - and no matter how much Evadarr blesses me, he is _not_ going to be King!"

"_Blesses _you?" Eragon said incredulously. "What -"

"And," Arya said, ignoring him, "I can't abdicate without all the forms and certificates and -"

" - We're at war!" Eragon said, equally loud; "I think they will have to make an exception -"

" - I will _not_ leave my kingdom in the hands of some surrogate Lord!"

"After the war, you can choose someone!"

"There might not _be _any after the war!" Arya retorted. But she did not look afraid any more.

"I'm sure the Court, and the Kingdom, and Niduen combined will manage to find someone capable of ruling," Eragon said firmly.

"That is not the -" but she stopped, dead, as she spoke, eyes fixed on some distant thing over his shoulder. Eragon stared at her, perplexed.

"Arya?"

"Family," she said, wide-eyed. Eragon blinked.

"What?"

"I said - I mean …" she frowned slightly. Eragon watched in mystification.

"Arya, what -?"

But as he spoke, she suddenly sprang into action; she slid Enëlya into its sheath, and held the sword tightly by the hilt; then she turned and started to dash away along the path she had been trying to use before.

"_Arya!"_

"What?" she said, looking back impatiently. "Hurry up!"

"Where are you going?" he asked suspiciously.

"Hurry up," she said, coming back and grabbing his hand, "and then you will know." And she bounded off again, pulling a bewildered and lost Eragon in her wake.

--

Niduen paced the rug before the hearth in Bellaen's house, hands twisting and twining in her lap, eyes unfocussed and her bottom lip caught in her teeth. She did not know what to do; Tialdari Hall? To Arya, who still resided in Niduen's own house? Or merely wait here?

This last course of action did not appeal to Niduen. She did not have the mad, dash-and-go fire of Arya, or the headlong rushing ways of Eragon, but she was not one to sit and sew, and wait for things to happen.

On the other hand, all her decisions were carefully considered before being carried out. This was no exception.

"You are going to wear a hole in my rug," said Bellaen, coming up behind with a small brown wren-bird on his arm.

"Hm?" she replied, and then finally stopped. "What?"

He stared at her, concerned. "If you are so agitated, go and wait by Tialdari Hall."

"No, it is best to leave the nobles to their own devices until Arya arrives …" she stared out of a window on the dull, overcast day outside. "Except she does not seem to be deigning to arrive."

"Oh, no." Bellaen turned and looked at the little brown wren on his arm. "No, that is because she is in the West part of the city."

"West?" echoed Niduen, surprised. "Why - how do you know?"

"My friend the wren was up very early today," he said, smiling; "she says that she gave up foraging in the West city, because of all the scaly birds flapping around."

"Oh." Niduen laughed slightly, glad of this respite from thinking about politics. "Oh, Eridor and Saphira? I suppose that means Arya is with Eragon and Saphira. Strange."

"Why strange?" Bellaen asked, a trifle absent-mindedly, for the wren was ascending his arm and twittering loudly.

"Because she was not at my house last night, either … I used her mirror to ask her if she was all right in the storm … but she was not there."

"Oh." Her mate blinked once or twice in mild puzzlement, but offered no theories as to the mystery. Niduen looked away, back out of the window, and folded her arms. But she was distracted again by Bellaen's little wren piping loudly in her ear, and fluttering her short wings frantically.

"What is wrong with her?" she said quizzically, and watched as the bird climbed Bellaen's arm to stand cheeping on his head. He reached up to grab her, a look of bewilderment on his own face.

"She says the scaly birds are outside."

And someone was knocking on the door.

--

Eragon frowned at Arya, as she came to stop by a house he did not recognise. She seemed utterly caught up in herself, for she did not seem to mind that there were leaves and pine-needles in her hair, and mud on her shoes. And she was certainly not bothered about Eragon being rather the worse for wear as well.

She was standing by the door she had knocked on, brows knitted together, and face blank. And though before she had been madly, uncharacteristically impatient, now she was silent and thoughtful, and patient.

He did not know what to make of her.

"Your Highness!" The door had opened; and the elf whose face was revealed seemed familiar to Eragon, with his golden hair and careful face.

"Greetings, Bellaen. I wish to see my cousin; is she here?"

"Yes, Highness." His voice was soft and obliging, and there was a hair out of place on his head. He stepped back, and let Arya in first; Eragon hesitated, but Arya grabbed his hand and tugged him along, too.

Bellaen's house was a comfortable place, with many sofas, rugs and a large fireplace. It was before this fireplace that Niduen stood - she was pacing the floor - and she stopped as if met by an invisible barrier.

"Arya?" Her face was slack with shock.

"Good morning, Niduen." Arya's face was also very careful. "Are you well?"

"Are _you _well?" Niduen reiterated starting to come forward, but stopping. "I tried to speak to you in that storm last night but -"

"Yes, well," said Arya hastily, "I wanted to talk to you, Niduen."

Niduen's pretty face immediately became wary. "I think we should go to the Court before we discuss anything about your ascendancy here -" Arya blinked at this blatant acceptance of the fact that she would be Queen. "- Because I did not enjoy solitary confinement."

"They would not dare to do so again," she replied haughtily. But her face softened, and she said in much less hard tones, "May I speak to you in private, please?"

Niduen swallowed her uneasiness and smoothed her face into a calmer mask, and Eragon admired her for it; she was deceptively quiet most of the time, and perhaps others did not see the steely resolve she held.

"If you wish it." She turned and glanced at Bellaen, who had been silent and respectful. Eragon watched him as he kissed her forehead, and departed the room in accordance with her silent request, and found it hard to judge him. He seemed more impassive than most elves, and his looks were not remarkable; and he wondered how such a bright person as Niduen had ever seen anything special in him.

Still, it was not for him to wonder. Arya had once mentioned that she herself would decapitate Bellaen if he did anything to Niduen, so he and Saphira need not concern themselves; he had laughed, but she had been mostly serious.

"Well?" Niduen looked as if she was carefully concealing some deep emotion. "Well, where have you been? I have been waiting and waiting -"

Arya's mouth set at Niduen's very much older, disapproving tone. "I have been with Eragon and Saphira, and so has Eridor. They have brought us something from Gil'ead."

"The spoils of war?" Niduen looked annoyed, surprised and darkly amused as well. "I thought you would have had enough of that yourself."

"No." Arya glanced at Eragon, and he saw her fingers tighten on the silver hilt of Enëlya that she hid behind her back. "It was much more than that. Do you remember Adravar? He was head of Miolandra after Oromis died. He gave it to Eragon, for me, as his dying wish."

Niduen raised a dark eyebrow. "Yes, I had heard he was dead. But not from you." And she frowned.

"This is what he entrusted to us - the last Riders' sword, Niduen." Arya took if from behind her, and held Enëlya, glittering and graceful, on her palms. Niduen's face fell, and she froze, eyes narrowed. Eragon could not read her expression.

"What is it? Where did it come from?"

Arya's face was full of conflicting emotions, and her voice was gentle. "Adravar fought at Doru Areaba, and this was his brother's sword, who was a Rider. He was waiting for the last eggs to hatch. It … _She_ is named Enëlya."

"Why are you showing me this? And why do you need it? You have a sword."

"I will have a Rider's sword," said Arya slowly, almost pityingly, "because I am a Rider. I am a Rider before a Princess, or an elf … or a Queen."

"Oh yes?" said Niduen, looking at Eragon with a stare that was suddenly very hostile. "Be that as it may, you cannot deny what is in your blood. _You _are the child of Kings, Arya, and all the swords in the world cannot change that."

"Of course not," replied Arya; they both seemed to be playing some long, intricate game, and Eragon could only remain silent. "But my parents were Rulers, Niduen. I am not."

"How do you know?" said Niduen loudly. "You have not been here long enough to decide!"

"You do not understand," said Arya, and in contrast to Niduen her voice was soft. "Come, Niduen …" She laid Enëlya on a wooden sideboard, and walked forward to take her cousin's delicate hand. "Come …"

She led Niduen towards a seat, her face solemn and sad. And though Eragon did not know what she was about to do, or what she meant, he saw clearly that this was between Arya and her cousin, and that it was for family only.

"I'll go, Arya."

She glanced up; her gaze was unreadable, and as devoid of mobility as Niduen's was carefully controlled. She nodded, and looked away, her hair - somewhat knotted, having dried in an odd way the previous night - fell over her face, and she turned away from Eragon and Niduen too.

He understood her, and quietly left through another door, meaning to got back outside; but, on closing it behind him, found himself in another large, square room, this one filled with paints, papers, and quill pens. Bellaen sat at one the many desks, watching with rapt attention a fat little wren. He stood when Eragon entered.

"Forgive me. I meant to leave the house." He was rather distracted; had he not been so caught up in what on earth Arya was doing, he would have put more feeling into the apology.

"That is quite all right, Silver Hand." Bellaen tilted his head to one side, considering. "Do you want a cup of tea?"

Eragon did not particularly want anything but to know the outcome of Arya and Niduen's talk, but, having walked into Bellaen's study, felt it would rude to decline.

"If it is not a trouble, Bellaen."

"Of course not, Silver Hand." Bellaen left the wren to eat a handful of corn he put on the desk, and went to a corner, where a tiny stove and little kettle stood. He moved about with mugs and spoons of tea with a quiet, languid grace; Eragon was sure he would never be like that, and wondered if Arya minded, then flushed for thinking it.

The little kettle started to steam. Bellaen put his hand over it for a second, and then turned around, pale, icy eyes expressionless. "Are you and Saphira Bjartskular well, my Lord?" he asked eventually, with painstaking sincerity. Eragon considered him for a moment, then spoke.

"You need not call me those titles, Bellaen. I do not feel like a Lord today."

"Very well." He looked vaguely surprised, and the blue eyes turned on Eragon again, who did not know what to make of this calm, extremely impassive elf. "May I ask, then, is Princess Arya well?"

"She is in good health," Eragon replied a little shortly. He was regretting not leaving while he had had the chance.

"That is good. Niduen worries about her; please do not think I am meddling in her business."

Eragon felt like mentioning that Arya had more than enough people and dragons to worry over her, but didn't. So he remained silent, and watched as Bellaen went to pour the hot water into the mugs.

"What are they speaking about?" the elf asked suddenly, turning around and fixing Eragon with a hard stare.

"That is a matter between Arya and Niduen," said Eragon, surprised by this sudden, open hostility; but his voice did not convey this. It was cool and calm as Bellaen's catlike face.

"I will not let Niduen be hurt; or worried," the elf replied sharply.

"You forget yourself," Eragon said coldly, temper already frayed from being so caught up himself in Arya's doings. "Arya is royalty, as is Lady Niduen. Their business is their own."

"Niduen is my mate_," _Bellaen returned. Now Eragon could read the look in his eyes: worry, concern, love; all harmless, but full of torment anyway. "I will not have her hurt."

"I had heard that," Eragon replied, folding his arms. "And I will tell you that I know as little as you do; and also that Arya would never hurt Niduen deliberately. You need not worry."

The anger faded away as quickly as it had come, making Eragon feel, as he had when he had first come to Ellesmera, that Arya was the only elf he could ever possibly understand. "Ah, but we worry nonetheless, do we not?"

Eragon silently agreed, but was distrustful of Bellaen's hidden feelings, and said nothing. The elf glanced down at a steaming mug of tea, and said, "Surely you do as well. For your dragon, and for Arya?"

Eragon looked up sharply. "We worry for them both," he said slowly. Bellaen nodded, a long, sinuous movement.

"Then you understand how I feel. I apologise for what I said, but it is terrible to be so close to her, and not be able to help her in court."

"Why can't you?"

Bellaen looked coolly incredulous. "I am the head of the household elves, who make this city work smoothly and easily; who look after the nobles, who keep Tialdari Hall in order, who house messengers, ambassadors, make food suitable for different races; but we have little leverage in Court, and we are not often recognised in what we do."

Eragon frowned slightly. "Niduen would change that. She is an excellent diplomat."

"I know. But -" he broke off, as the door opened, and Arya appeared in the door.

"Please come back now, Eragon." She looked past him, and beckoned slightly for Bellaen to come as well. Eragon straightened up, and, having caught her eye, saw that she had said what she had wanted to. He listened to Saphira's words of advice and stepped back into the warm, fire-lit room.

Niduen sat on the bench where Eragon had saw her last. Her eyes were cast downwards, and her mouth was set into a firm line; her hands clasped bunches of her dress tightly; Eragon saw that Arya kept her eyes on her cousin, her gaze almost pitying. Eragon thought dimly he knew, now, what they had been talking about, what made Arya sad and guilty at the same time. But he said nothing.

Arya crossed the room to stand by her cousin, who did not look up. She laid a hand on Niduen's shoulder, and turned to face Eragon, and also the suspicious Bellaen, whose fists were clenched.

"I have been asked to succeed my mother as Queen, Bellaen," she said, but looked more at Eragon than him. "And I have thought long and hard on it; I have thought of nothing else for six days, and I have made a decision. It depends on a great deal, certainly on the sufferance of the elven people, the Lords and Ladies of Tialdari Hall and also - from you."

Arya looked down at Niduen, and continued after a pause in which she did not meet Eragon gaze, or Saphira's gentle probes. Out of all those concerned, only Eridor made no move to say anything.

"I love this kingdom; I have fought for it. But I would not be a good Queen; not only because … I am a Rider; and Riders should not have such power … but I have not the patience, the ability to play political games for days on end; I have become used to freedom and governing myself; I would not help this land to prosper."

Despite these brave words, Eragon heard the higher pitch of her voice, and the way her hand left Niduen's shoulder and clenched at her side. She was still ashamed.

"And we are going to war. Perhaps the very last war; I must leave this kingdom well-cared for. If we are defeated, then Galbatorix will … he will be stronger than ever." She stopped, because he knew the fear they had been keeping at bay was coming closer again, and she did not want to appear weak before Bellaen.

"So I must find a successor. I have found one, and she will take it." Arya looked down at Niduen, her face hidden. "Niduen will be a better Queen than me; she makes a better Lady Regent than I do. The Court respects her, the whole kingdom knows and likes her. And she is my father's niece; so his blood will still run in the Monarch's veins."

She took her hand from Niduen's shoulder. "I am sorry, Niduen." It was so quiet that Bellaen, who had started towards Niduen, did not hear; but Eragon did.

Niduen had straightened up; she caught Bellaen's hand, and looked at him beseechingly. "Bellaen, please, understand that I -"

"You don't have to justify yourself, you … you will be -" He did not finish, but he embraced her anyway, and she buried her face in his long hair. Arya stared at them a moment, and then turned away.

"I shall get the papers," she said in a toneless voice, and, not having got an answer, turned for the door anyway. Eragon caught her arm as she went past, and followed her out; she did not look at him until the door was firmly closed behind them. And when she turned to see him, her eyes did not meet his.

"I feel almost as bad as if I'd taken it myself," she said in a low voice, and sighed slightly. "Now at least we have to come back."

"From where?"

"From Uru'Baen." She scowled. "I have to make sure it is safe for Niduen, I have to make the nobles condone my abdication. I must make them accept my choice of succession as well."

"I had no idea what you were doing," said Eragon quietly. "You surprised me."

"Yes," she said slowly, "but Eridor approved."

"Well, then," said Eragon gently. "If Eridor approved, then no one else can say you made the wrong decision."

Arya smiled at him. It was not a happy smile, but it indicated she appreciated this point of view. Eragon wished heartily such difficult decision did not have to be made by her, so soon after Islanzadi's death. "There are many peremptory papers that have to be signed before Niduen is legally made first in the nomination for Ruler. As long as I sign them, and she consents, the Court will have to accept them, at least until we return."

And she looked so determined as she said this, so full of certainty, that Eragon believed, then, without a shadow of a doubt, that very little would ever prevent Arya and Eridor from coming back to their home.

--

Eragon sat quite still at the bottom of a large, old oak tree, watching but not really seeing a fat chaffinch pecking at the leaf-strewn floor. Arya had gone to say farewell to Niduen, to sign the papers, and she had been half an hour now. Of course, he was not worried, but it was rather like being stuck in limbo now, between Ellesmera and the troubles of democracy, and the increasing need to get up and _go _to Uru'Baen and the Varden.

Saphira and Eridor might have been close by; but their minds were closed, and Eragon knew that until Arya returned, Eridor would not speak. He knew something they did not, understood something that eluded Arya and Eragon; and Saphira was staying with him.

The chaffinch looked up, beady eyes glinting, and took off; a moment later, Arya had arrived, arms folded and looking deep within her own thoughts. Eragon stood up, watching her warily.

"Well?"

"She signed them. Bellaen was witness. I do not think anyone will object … Niduen is an excellent diplomat."

"Good." He meant it, he really did, but he knew how capable Niduen was; Ellesmera would be safe for a little while longer than any other part of Alagaesia; but his and Saphira's duty was to the Varden, to Nasuada his Liege-Lord, and they had expected to have been gone days ago. "And … now?"

"Now?" Arya unfolded her arms, and Eragon saw that Enëlya was fastened to a leather belt around her hip. "Now, we go to Uru'Baen; Galbatorix will know us, and fear us; and we shall return here victorious."

Her eyes were fierce, and her hands gripping Enëlya's pommel tightly; but she turned to Eragon and smiled; and Eragon knew then that she had spoken to Eridor, that he had approved of her; and that she was no longer guilty, or ashamed of leaving the Throne.

She was free.

--

The papers had been approved; of the few Lords left in Ellesmera, most of them liked her, knew her, and accepted Arya's decision. Niduen held Bellaen's hand, and lifted her skirt with the other as she approached the Throne. In the pockets of her finely-made dress was a scroll, tied with red ribbon and sealed with the sign of a raven: Evandar's daughter's mark.

"My Lords and Ladies," she began, eyeing each one by one; she was not afraid; how could she be, raised in the Courts of Du Weldenvarden since a tiny baby, brought up to put her country first? "My Lords and Ladies, I am honoured to have your support as Queen Regent; this office I know, means I am not truly ruling Queen. But when my cousin returns, she will sign over the last of her office; she does not wish to be Queen. In the event of her death, she has named me her successor.

"I regret to tell you that both Arya and Eridor her dragon have left this city in the company of Eragon Shadeslayer and Saphira Brightscales, to join the war in Uru'Baen …"

_Arya's hair flew in the wind, unbound, and her face was alive with pure delight. Her last long flight on Eridor had not been idyllic; now they had company, and they were free, for however short a time. _

_Enëlya glinted at her side, the same forest-green colour as Eridor's scales; his eyes, large and diamond-shaped, not the oval that Saphira's were, shone. He delighted in every trick he had ever learnt, every manoeuvre and evasion tactic. Sometimes a stream of flame would pour from his mouth, and he could not control it … Saphira laughed, because she remembered how excited she had been at that age …_

Niduen produced the scroll, broke the seal at her leisure, so as to ensure the nobles' attention, and unfurled it. "Arya Dröttningu writes thus:

"I hereby on this eighth day of the fifth moon-cycle relinquish my position as ruling Princess, first in line for the Throne and Regent of the Elven Kingdom that resides within Du Weldenvarden.

"I name Niduen Silvrena, daughter of Lady Elena and Lord Evadarr, as my successor as Queen should I die before I can return to formalise this occasion, and as Queen Regent until I return …"

_Eragon leant low into Saphira's saddle, and then laughed as she turned over, so that he fell back and had to grab at the saddle to keep from falling off. Eridor looked down his nose at them, and then flipped over as quick as Saphira had done so that Arya shrieked and shouted to him to stop it, because she had her water-skin in her hand. _

_Beneath them the Hardarac Desert spread, the rocks and sporadic plants flashing past; it would take a day and half the night to reach the Varden's camp, and once there, there would be no more laughing, no more of the revelry they felt at last for being on the move again; soon it would be fighting again, armies and tactics and messages from both sides. _

_Eragon wanted to be there; he wanted to see Nasuada, to be her Liegeman again; he longed to see Roran, but that was not to be; Roran was holding Teirm, and would not be the of course; but perhaps Katrina would be, and Angela also; and there was talk of the dwarves marching. Orik would be there, Orik his foster-brother, Orik the new father … _

"I have always fought for this kingdom, for my father's people, and my mother's people. I learnt long ago that I must put the kingdom before myself. But I am no longer a single person; I am a Rider; and no Rider should be a monarch, as the Black King has proven.

"So in my last duty to my office, I have decided on a leader, a Queen who will lead the elven kingdom, no matter how it changes. Who will listen to those who do not have standings in Court, who will fairly and carefully decide each matter brought before her.

"In this, Niduen Silvrena will be a Queen such as I could not …"

_This was by far the strangest journey Eridor could ever have imagined; Arya was not exactly happy, and nor was Eragon. They flew as if their lives depended on it, because it was their last flight, the last time, perhaps, that they would ever ride their dragon away from war. _

_At the end of this journey was war, and death, and pain. Eridor had never seen war; he had never killed a living being but for what he caught and ate. He had known fear and pain and love, but he had never known war._

_Saphira said to steel himself; to not be shocked by the things he would see, the treacherous acts, the dirty tactics, the deathly-serious politics. But it was not that that scared him; even Galbatorix he saw as another enemy, terrifying, but at least a mortal foe._

_What he, Eridor, feared, was that Saphira would die, and Eragon along with her. He feared for her, the last of his race; he feared for Arya, his Rider; and he did not want to die because of the pain it was cause her. _She _would die as well._

_Arya believed in no heaven, no afterlife; she knew death to be death, and in her mind all souls fell into the void eventually. Eridor did not quite believe this, and he did not want it to be true. But certainly Eragon's vague beliefs of life after death were just as feasible as Arya's._

_So, Eridor decided; in order to experience neither he would simply not be killed … but with every wing-beat, every time the sun glanced of Saphira's scales, his heart grew heavier. And he knew that soon, they would all meet their fate. _

"She has consistently been regent in my place. She is present at every debate, hearing and Court-gathering there has been since she returned to Ellesmera. Lady Niduen has not the skill of a sword, though she is proficient in the bow; but she is kind, and strong; her mind is her own, yet she listens to counsel always with an unbiased mind.

"In this way, she will be wise like my mother, careful to make a good decision. In knowing her own mind and knowing the value of knowledge, she is much like her own father. And in taking the responsibility from a more wayward relative, she is like Evandar my father, who was the wisest and most-beloved King we have had in many centuries.

"This all of Court must remember: that Niduen Silvrena has been through many hardships for a Crown she never expected to have. She did it all for honour, and for duty; and both these she has fulfilled admirably, more than many others would have done.

"She is a Queen … remember that, my Lords and Ladies …"

_Saphira was used to war. Perhaps not one of this magnitude, but she was also adept at keeping apprehension at bay. So she simply flew, conversing sporadically with Eragon and to Arya also, and watching the looks they gave each other, that said they simply did not know what to say; Eragon's love had never burned brighter; and in Arya a fire burned, not one that made her fight, but the one that made her able to hold and comfort babies; and only Saphira could see it. _

_Saphira was not given to awkwardness, or to jealousy. She knew herself to be above these things. But as Glaedr had once said, she was just as capable of emotions as a human, only far less petty ones. _

_So though she was not jealous of Eragon and Arya, she watched them. And she watched Eridor, whom she had taught for so long, whom she had crossed half of Alagaesia for, whom she had fought Thorn for; and she decided that if they survived the war - and only if - she would speak to him. _

_She knew the importance of emotions not interfering with warfare. She knew many things that Arya and Eragon never would. But dragon or no, last female or no, she could not, would not, defy her heart …_

"My last command as first in line for the Throne is this; and let all be aware of it. It shall not go unpunished if this is not carried out, as and how I indicate.

"That this scroll be read to all elves. To Lord Dathedr, and his warriors. To every battalion, outpost and guard house; every city, town and village. Every elf who will be ruled by Niduen Silvrena must hear this.

"And the very city that you now stand, I will return. And when I return, there will once more be a Queen sitting on the Knotted Throne."

Niduen lowered the scroll; her eyes were full of tears. And one by one, silently and fluidly, each Lord and Lady stood; and they brought their hands together, and they clapped; they applauded Niduen, for her loyalty and her future reign. They clapped for Arya, who had faced herself and done the right thing for her country. And they applauded the valiant efforts of every member of the Dröttningu family, who had lived and died for their crown.

The sun fell below the tree line.

_It was a cold and starry night when they saw it. Yellow lights flickering on the ground, and lamps made of undying magic. They burned like tiny stars on the dark plain of the earth, and all four travellers knew them to be the camp they had been looking for._

_And further away burned more lights; lights that rose in tiers to a pinnacle many leagues high. Sentry houses, guard houses, store rooms, warehouses, shops, houses, town-mansions of rich Squires. And above it shone hundreds of lights, red and yellow and blue. Magic lights, for a palace made for a magician._

_Eragon and Saphira knew it, and they feared it. Arya and Eridor saw it, and they quailed before it, the fire in their chests flickering with fear of that which they did not know._

_As they circled to land, Uru'Baen loomed. _

_--_

Well, people ... the end is nigh! I can't believe I'm saying it, but ... there is a finish somewhere ... in the hazy distance ...

I might just faint.

Anyway ... sword? Queen? The odd ending-style? You know I appreciate knowing what you think!

Now I am going to crash out on my little bed until mum comes crashing back in the back door (I'm babysitting). I don't know why they call it 'babysitting' when my sisters are so big I can't stop them attacking each other ... Urgh ...

it's not worth fifteen quid.


	56. Be Careful

Lol, hope this was quick enough! You wouldn't believe the evening I've had ... what yopu have here is a babysitter on the verge of QUITTING and running away screaming.

I was never that devious! Compared to my little sister, I was an _angel_!! Grrrrr ... I could go on ... but I'll spare you. I'm tired. Please excuse further rambling.

**_Thanks so much, all you wonderful caring pople who review! This _**is**_ less than a week ..._**

Chapter Fifty Six.

Be Careful.

It was pitch black where the fire did not shine; Eragon knew how the Varden laid its sentries, how evenly the Varden and Orrin's cavalry were spread; but he did not want to alert them, and also Eridor must be kept a silent secret. So he and Arya alone approached the camp, the dragons hidden behind a rocky prominence a half-mile away.

The sentries were stationed every fifth yard; each one gleamed in armour that was decidedly old but well-cared for; Eragon saw one who stood facing slightly towards the warmth of the nearest fire, and turned to Arya, who was hidden deep in the shadows, barely visible.

_That one? _he asked, feeling for her mind. She nodded, eyes glinting.

_I will hold his mouth shut. You talk to him, he will recognise you._

_All right. _

He crept forward; his armour wads muffled with rags, and Arya's, which was smoother and lighter than his, was smeared with mud to stop it shining. They kept to the rock, running silently in the shadows; and Arya was so nimble and so deft at what she was doing that the sentry had barely turned his face towards the darkness before Arya's hand was over his mouth, and her knee in his back ready to throw him down.

"Do not dare shout; I mean you no harm," she whispered fiercely, so that her words sounded ridiculous. "I am here with Eragon Shadeslayer. We need quiet entrance into the camp."

His eyes darted all over, bulging with alarm. Eragon came forward, and removed his helmet. Arya watched him, waiting for the signal to let him go. He briefly wondered exactly how much practice she had had at this.

"Do not be alarmed. I am a Rider - we had to come in secrecy; my dragon is over the ridge. We need to speak to Lady Nasuada immediately, and it must be done with no one knowing. We will not harm you, but you must do exactly what we say, and speak to no one of this. We will know if you have. Am I understood?"

The man looked marginally relieved, but for Arya's mailed hand over his mouth. He nodded, and Arya, with a glance at him, let him go.

"Where is Nasuada?" she said brusquely, looking utterly unabashed. Eragon was sure she'd had practice.

The man looked at them both, not exactly scared but apprehensive. "My Lady's tent is in the centre of the camp. The elves guard her day and night."

Eragon grinned. "Annatar is a very trustworthy person."

"Of course he is," said Arya disapprovingly, turning to the sentry. "Do you know the inner passwords?"

"No, my Lady." He glanced between them. "I can reach the third circle. Then someone else must take over."

"That will do," said Eragon quietly. "Come, hurry up, soldier."

"Yes, my Lord." He clutched his pike and turned around, looking decidedly uncomfortable at having to do so. Eragon and Arya followed him; Eragon could see a dagger in Arya's hand, and his own knife was strapped to his arm.

The tents were all linen, dirty white, and bearing marks of long use. They passed three circles meeting only sentries, who gave access after a question or two; Eragon was very impressed at this efficiency. But as they neared the fourth circle, where Orrin and his cavalry seemed to reside, judging by the yellow-and black tents, their guard stopped.

"I do not have clearance to go any further, Sir, Lady."

"All right. Go back to your post," Eragon said in a low voice. "Remember: your life is forfeit if you reveal our presence to anyone."

"Yes, Sir." Eragon waved his hand in dismissal, and the man turned and walked swiftly away, gripping his pike hard. Arya stared after him a moment, then looked around as Eragon was. There was brazier round the side of the next tent in the middle of the next pavilion, where the guards were warming their hands in the dry, cold night. Eragon and Arya started towards it, but leapt around as someone spoke behind them.

"Well, well! About time! Do you know how long we've been waiting, Eragon, you daft man?"

Eragon gaped, and Arya looked terribly angry at being made to jump so spectacularly. "Angela! For the Gods' sake, be quiet -!"

"Ho, now, don't worry." She grinned, tight curls bouncing under an odd cap. Eragon could see a basket of some slimy, slippery things on her arm. "I live here."

"Angela …" Eragon was caught between a desire to hug her, and to laugh. "Angela, where is Nasuada's tent?"

"Oh, that's polite," she said, shifting the basket, and eyeing Eragon. "It's good to see you as well."

"Angela!"

"Well, what? Nasuada's tent, if you must know, is the one with dragon and the rose in the centre of the main pavilion."

"We know that," Arya said impatiently. Angela raised a bushy eyebrow.

"You did ask."

"Have you got clearance for that part?" Arya said curtly. Eragon hid a smile. "We need to talk to her, now."

"Yes. I can go wherever I like. They're not that stupid here."

Arya opened her mouth, but Eragon cut her off. "All right, Angela. It's very good to see you, too, and can you please take us to Nasuada? Now?"

Her face split into a wide, friendly grin. She seemed to have a tooth missing. "Ah, at last, a straight question. Of course I can take you to Nasuada; you only had to ask."

Arya sighed, but Eragon smiled; he knew Angela, whatever she was doing up at this time of night. "Thank you, Angela."

"You're very welcome." She patted her hair and marched off on her short legs, basket swinging. Arya followed Eragon, her armour clinking ever so slightly.

Angela was evidently very well known. The soldiers stood back for her after having decided Eragon and Arya to be trustworthy. She took them through three more layers of tents and guards and as they went the tents became larger and more colourful; there were the insignias of Varden leaders, Du Vrangr Gata and the Varden's war banner. Each time Eragon saw one, he felt more reassured. These were the people he had lived with for so long, the ones he trusted and knew.

Finally they came to a large pavilion, where many tall, roped tents were erected, and before each one an elf stood, in cloak and hood; as well as six guards, and there was a brazier burning in the centre. All of them turned as one to watch Angela lead Eragon and Arya in.

"Well, what are you all looking at?" Angela said loudly. "They're visitors!"

Eragon could have sworn he heard the battle-hardened men snigger; he even saw an elf twitch. Angela ignored them and indicated a tent straight opposite, whose doors were embroidered with a white rose. "That one there. Tell the elf who you are - the men are useless."

"Thank you, Angela."

"Mph, well. You can drop by for a cup of tea later." She patted her odd little cap. "Goodbye, Argetlam." And her eyes were fixed on Arya.

"You -!"

But Angela had gone with a grin on her round face and a flap of her cloak. Arya turned to Eragon, alarmed. "How does she know?!"

"You can never tell with Angela," he said, not particularly concerned. But he saw that Arya was. "You needn't worry. She would not tell anyone. She keeps as many secrets as Brom did, I should think."

Arya looked unsure, but she said nothing more. "Fine. That is the elf. Let me talk to him."

She approached the hooded figure that stood before Nasuada's tent, and pressed her two fingers to her lips, saying the in Ancient Language, "I am Arya Dröttningu; I have just come from Ellesmera, along with Eragon Shadeslayer and Saphira Bjartskular. It is urgent that we speak with Lady Nasuada now."

"Yes, Princess." The elf bowed, a lock of pale hair falling from his hood, and he gracefully turned around, pulled back the doors and slipped inside. Eragon came to Arya's side, and they stood, tense and alert for anything out of the ordinary, as they waited for access to be granted: but they did not wait long.

The cloth doors of the tent were pulled back; and a dark thing emerged from it, though she glinted in the light of the fires. She stood stock still, a hand on a sword.

"Eragon?" Her eyes were wide, as if she did not believe what she was seeing.

"Yes … we're back." He eyed her in the darkness, heart swelling with relief that she was still alive, still fighting.

"By the Gods, Eragon" Nasuada hurried forward, her mouth slightly open; she wore a slight bit of mail still, despite the lateness of the hour, and there was a long, silver sword, fitted with pale blue gemstones, and Eragon remembered: her mother's sword, the Grey Folk … "By the Gods, what are you doing here?"

"We've come from Ellesmera." Eragon scrutinised Nasuada, glad to see her, but all too aware of the grey touch of her skin, the shadows beneath her eyes, and the paleness that she seemed to radiate … "We have very much to tell you; the last dragon egg …"

Her face was tight with animated excitement. "Did it hatch? Will it fight?"

"Yes, he will." Arya stepped forward; she pulled off the mail-backed gauntlet on her right hand, and held palm down. "He and his Rider will fight." She turned her palm upwards. "We are not afraid."

The Gedwey Ignesia glowed.

--

"So Islanzadi is dead." Nasuada dropped the leather gloves she wore on her desk and sighed. "I wondered why contact with the elves had been so rare, especially when we are in a situation as grave as this."

"They are coming," Arya said earnestly. "Lord Dathedr commands the troops. He will be here before the end."

"I expect so." Nasuada stared at Arya, then leant forward across the desk. Her gaze was soft. "And you? Are you well?"

"Yes." Arya looked at Eragon for a fraction of a second. "You need not worry."

"Time will heal everything," Nasuada said quietly, dark eyes searching Arya's face that seemed very pale in the dim tent. "Even pain and loss."

"I know that, Nasuada."

Nasuada's gaze was suddenly sharp. "Of course you do. To business, then." But Eragon thought she looked exhausted. "What will you - and Eridor - do in regard to fighting? I cannot help feeling that as we are so fortunate as to have you, you must be used to the greatest advantage …"

"That is true." Eragon looked at Arya, sat on a rough chair next to him, stiff-backed and sharp-eyed. "If we could use you, as the Empire did with Murtagh at the Burning Plains … that would take them all by surprise … make them afraid …"

"I will not leave Eridor in that canyon during the day," she replied sharply. "It is too dangerous."

"I agree," said Nasuada, frowning slightly. "At least if he were here, he'd be more safe, if not a complete secret."

"Yes, and perhaps the subject of an assassination attempt," Eragon replied. "No - surely you could go to the elves? Their camp should be no more than three days' marching from here, and you could fly there by the morning …"

"They really are coming?" Nasuada whispered. "To fight with us?"

"Of course they are," said Arya, not unsympathetically. "We will all fight Galbatorix together, or not at all. Lord Dathedr will come." She looked at Eragon; a strand of hair that was supposed to be pinned back fell over her face. "And we will be safer with them. Eridor and I can go, now."

"Now?" repeated Eragon, looking at her warily. "Will you be able find the camp?"

Arya did not see the worry in his eyes. Her thoughts were split between Nasuada, Eragon and Eridor, and she wanted to go to the elves. "_Yes. _How can you say otherwise?"

Eragon stared back at her, and he did not apologise or explain his remark. "Be careful."

"We will not be caught."

"Is it agreed, then?" Nasuada leaned forward; the light of the oil lamps flickered, and all three faces became odd and shadowy. "That Arya and … Eridor …" she said the name slowly, "will go to the elves?"

"I am going anyway," Arya said, making as if to rise. "I have to speak to Dathedr personally. My … mother never knew about Eridor, and … I think I should tell the army myself."

"Yes, you may go," Nasuada said, "but not yet; wait a moment." Arya glanced at Eragon, and settled back down, eyes fixed on Nasuada. "I must ask you both this, and only because I must organise the troops according to how you wish it. How will you fight Galbatorix? And - what are the chances of you defeating him?"

Arya turned involuntarily to look at Eragon, who stared back at her. "I do not think I can answer it, my Lady. I know very little about Galbatorix himself."

"You must tell me something," Nasuada said quietly, "because I must organise my troops around you both tomorrow."

Eragon shifted uneasily. "If you mean our style of fighting, I would prefer it if Saphira and I were not in command of a large amount of men. We would not be reliable as such; let us fight by ourselves."

"That is not reasonable," Nasuada replied sharply. "You must have protection."

"Saphira have protection." He sighed so quietly that only Arya heard it. "Saphira and I, since our Masters died, have been to many odd and terrible places and we have learned some very odd and terrible things. No one in Galbatorix army poses a dangerous threat, though we know we must not underestimate them."

"I do not understand."

"We have new abilities, if you could call them that," Eragon said, aware that Arya was watching him intently. "New power, that is inexhaustible and strong. Only another Rider would be a danger to us now."

"And what is this power?" Years of politics and intricate court-games had made Nasuada slow to show her true feelings about anything important.

"After the war," said Eragon firmly, "we will tell you. Then, it will be safe. But this is our ultimate weapon against Galbatorix, and he has no idea that we are in possession of it …" he trailed off. Arya, sitting next to him, was stiff as a birch-rod.

"Why can you not tell me?"

"Because," Arya said curtly, "the knowledge would leave you a blasted and mindless shell. Or to a lesser person it would. But it would not leave you fit for battle tomorrow."

Nasuada looked from Arya's bright eyes, to Eragon's stony face. "I have very reason to trust you both, but please remember, Eragon: I am your liege-lord; your allegiance is with me."

"I have always fought for the Varden," Eragon said, voice expressionless, "for your father, and for Hrothgar, and I would fight for you, liege-lord or not. Who else would I take commands from?" He frowned, sounding truly puzzled. Nasuada tilted her head, looking pleased.

"Oh, I have never doubted you. But whatever should happen tomorrow -" her voice fade slightly, and Eragon and Arya both felt that unpleasantly familiar shudder of revulsion and fear flit through their minds " - remember that you are going to carry this battle. Do not do anything rash."

"We will be careful." Eragon lifted his head and smiled at her. "You do not need to worry about us at all. Put your troops first, all of them, and then us."

"I was going to do that anyway," Nasuada said, but she smiled, though it faded as she looked at Arya. "And you, Arya?"

"What about us? We shall fight, and we shall keep going until there is no one left. I told Niduen we would."

"I see." Nasuada, though she was carefully looking from one to the other, had a peculiar look in her eyes as she met Arya's own. "Be safe; travel well."

"Yes, Nasuada. We will." Arya stood up, her armour clinking. Enëlya glinted at her side, and swung as she moved. "And we will leave as soon as we can. I do not wish to be travelling in the day."

"Very well." Nasuada also stood up, and Eragon lifted his gauntlets from the table. "I must call the Commanders together. Jormundr and Orrin have chosen to remain with their men on the outer circles, I shall have to send messengers …"

Clad once more in full armour, Eragon and Arya left the tent, behind Nasuada, glancing around at the starless night and the glow of the many fires.

"It is not safe for me to leave the protection of this pavilion," Nasuada said, looking sideways at the elf who stood outside her tent. "I must say farewell to you now, Arya. Go carefully, and be safe."

"I will," Arya said once again; her face had closed off, and her eyes were large and wary. "Farewell."

Nasuada nodded, and left to go to the guards around the brazier, to dispatch one as a messenger. Eragon looked around to see Arya fiddling with the straps of her helmet. She seemed to feel his eyes on her, and looked up.

"Goodbye, then. I will see you as soon as Lord Dathedr can mobilise our troops." Her words were empty, and she avoided his eyes. Eragon did not understand; she turned and made as if to go. Eragon quickly reached out and grabbed her wrist.

"Do you want me to accompany you back to Eridor and Saphira?"

"I do not need protection," she said; but Eragon did not believe her.

"I do not think it is safe. Galbatorix will not simply be watching us camp outside his capital city. Spies and assassins …"

"I have dealt with spies and assassins before," Arya said, cocking her head.

"I know. But will you allow me to accompany you back to Eridor and Saphira?" he said patiently. Arya stared at him; and slowly a flicker of humour danced in her eyes.

"Company would be useful," she agreed. "But be quick."

Eragon smiled; he went to her side, and together they left the camp as inconspicuously as they had come, silent and quick; and as soon as they left the camp, they ran, back into the night, two shadows in the pitch dark.

--

Arya was checking Eridor's girth, the leather still being new, and was carefully warding the straps lest they break. She had removed her helmet again, and in the faint light that came from the carefully shielded lamp Eragon had conjured, it seemed to shine blue-white.

He watched her from Saphira's side; they were in a secluded corner of the cliffs that the Varden were camped in. On two sides there were sandy walls of red stone; but on the others, the darkness yawned. It was cold, bitingly so; but when Eragon looked up, there were no stars. It frightened him; he hated it.

Arya finished checking the saddle; she turned to Eragon, face pale as the lamp he held. "We are ready."

He put the lamp down, behind Saphira's leg so that it would not be obvious to any member of the enemy, and slowly walked to where she stood by Eridor' vast side. "Be safe."

She made as if to nod, but did not; it was past the time for pretending. Death was so close to them, all four, that there was no need for false assurances or sweet lies. "I swear, Eragon … you will see us ride to war tomorrow."

"I wish you didn't have to."

She looked down, and her hair, tucked into the back of her mail, slid down before her pointed ears. "We always knew we would. We are not afraid."

"I know you are not." Eragon slowly reached for her hand, mailed though it was, and he wished it wasn't. "Of course you are not."

She looked up, and Eragon thought as always how beautiful she was. "And you must be there as well. Don't do anything rash." She gave him a glance that would perhaps have been severe, but for the bright look in her eyes.

"We would never," Eragon replied, unperturbed. But he smiled down at her. "And then we will fight together. I hope Galbatorix fears us."

"So do I," she said fiercely. "And he will."

"Yes. So, for that, you must be careful … and stay secret … and remember we are relying quite heavily on you both." Eragon glance dup at Eridor. "I wish you had armour, Eridor … If only the dwarves were here. We left Saphira's armour with them."

Arya looked very slightly worried for the first time. "Yes, that is a pity. But if I need to …" she looked uneasy " … I will take energy from the Vault and with that we can make very strong wards."

"That is the best you could do," Eragon agreed. "But still do not underestimate the Empire … they will not be patiently sitting in the city and watching us get ready to fight."

"No, they will not. And for that reason, we should go as soon as possible …"

"Yes," agreed Eragon; but he did not let go her hand, and she did not move to pull away. "You should."

But Arya tilted her head upwards, leaning closer; and he could see the lamplight shining in her eyes, and feel the warmth of her skin; and she kissed him, her lips soft on his; his hands brushed her hair from her face and felt her soft skin, the sweet scent she naturally had, and her breath on his face -

Then she had broken away, their breathing audible in the silence of the night, She touched his face softly, and her smile was wistful but not exactly sad. "Goodbye," she whispered, and she turned away, before Eragon could say a word -

"Arya -"

Eragon leapt after, and caught her from, swinging her around, and smiling down at her as her feet touched the ground again. She stared in astonishment, mouth parted in surprise. "Goodbye."

She blinked, and then suddenly laughed, a bright, beautiful sound in all that silent, desolate darkness. "You are mad, Eragon!"

"Only the foolish are serious all the time," he told her, and she smiled.

"Then you must be a fool at least half of the day."

"Yes, I probably am." His face softened, and he leant closer to her, stroking her hair gently. "Please be safe, Arya. Don't get hurt."

"You know we all four will," she said quietly. "But I have already sworn to go back to Ellesmera, and I have to sworn that I would be careful, so I will do both those things."

"Yes, of course you will," Eragon agreed. "And you don't need me to tell you that, do you?"

"It does not offend as much as it once would have," she said, and her lips curled slightly. "But don't worry about us. We can care for ourselves."

"Yes." Eragon very slowly and hesitantly leant over her, and gently kissed her pale forehead. "You should go now."

She nodded, and slowly stepped away; her eyes were warm and bright, and the cold air made her cheeks pink. "I will see you soon. Take … care of … yourselves." Her eyes lit on Saphira, who twitched her head in return. Arya turned around, for the last time, and climbed deftly from Eridor's knee to his shoulder, then his saddle; she knotted all the straps, and placed her iron-booted feet in the stirrups. Her helmet she hung on one of the metal rings Eragon had made in the buckle guards.

Eridor crouched, readying himself for takeoff; Eragon stood back to stand with Saphira, as Eridor launched himself from the ground; and Eragon doused the lamp, watching the darkness swallow them, until they were eclipsed as if they had never been there. But he thought that once, only once, Arya had looked back, and grinned at him in that way he was used to.

--

Well ... short, but next chapter ... war and death and war ... and dragons ...

And I have written the first draft of a lovely new story to be written after this one (gaspsandfaints) is finished!

Enjoy! Ooh, I had a tetanus shot this morning ... randomness comes to me late at night. Sorry.


	57. Remembering

Well, this is a quick update, because I'm off on holiday tonight!! Well, tomrorrow, but .. er .. long story. Anyway, no updates for a week, but I swear I will come back with many fresh ideas. Besides, I want to buy a book, and big book, for _me._

**Enjoy! And a huge thanks to all you who review!**

Chapter Fifty Seven.

Remembering.

In the pale light of the morning, the Varden's camp looked as tired as it felt. Months of fighting, of war, of not enough food and too much work showed, even when only the sentries were awake. Nasuada knew that she looked as tired as her men; and perhaps worse.

The tent door was pulled open, and Eragon entered, helmet under one arm and a frown on his face. "How can it be so big?" he said, sitting on the other side of her desk, and roughly pulling his gauntlets off. "It is a monstrosity."

"So is Galbatorix. I hear he modelled it on his dragon." Nasuada looked up, smiling briefly. "He cannot resist being flamboyant, apparently."

Eragon's lip curled. "It looks like a nest of earwigs, not a city."

"I suppose. But Uru'Baen is very well protected."

"Yes," he said, nodding. "I was looking at it from the edge of the camp this morning. The outer defences are well made, but …" Eragon hesitated. "Who lives there? Saphira and I could see hundreds of people, swarming around the first levels, below that monstrosity of a palace; they did not look like soldiers to us."

"How could you see them?" Nasuada asked, astounded, dropping the chart she held in her hands. "It is two miles away."

"We have sharp eyes," he said dismissively. "Well? Are they soldiers?"

"No." Nasuada pursed her lips. "No. Remember Dras Leona, how filthy it was? With the beggars and dying people on the outside - yet inside the city were big houses and rich gardens, where the rich lived in comfort? Well, so far as we can tell, Uru'Baen is a larger version of that. The first two or three levels are simply slums, dirty and miserable. Hundreds of people live in just those small spaces … tens of them living in one tumbledown house … disease and open sewage in the streets …"

She sighed. Eragon watched her closely. "Further up are cleaner, wider streets where the simply poor live. Life is slightly better there. Above are the men and women employed at the palace itself; these have enough money, just about, to live. And then, there is the palace …" Nasuada trailed off, and Eragon looked away.

He had stared at the palace that Galbatorix lived in for quite a while that morning, looking at the way it rose yards high above the jumble of the city below, tall black pinnacles reaching far into the sky; and the towers, turrets and balconies all made of jet black marble. Gargoyles, some with three heads, others with six eyes, sat at every corner; and at the mouth of the city, a deep, wide archway made a mouth into the palace. All this Eragon had been able to clearly see with his elven eyes; and for once, he had not been afraid of the threat that was so close to them.

"What will you do?" he asked.

"Orrin … Orrin thinks that we must breach the first circles first. And he has some chemicals with him …" Nasuada wrinkled her nose. "They cause an explosion … He says if we can get near enough to the walls, he and his men can set the chemicals up."

Eragon looked at her doubtfully. "Explosion?"

Nasuada nodded, her face a mirror of his own. "We shall have to see … I will not endanger the army because of one of his inventions." She sighed, and put her face in her hands. Eragon stared at her, frowning slightly.

"You look ill."

"I feel ill."

"What is wrong? Apart from the obvious," he amended hastily.

"What makes you think there is anything else wrong?"

"There is, though - isn't there?"

"Yes," she admitted eventually. "Yes. I have not said this to anyone but Angela yet, but - Hyelda has died. A week ago. And Azhborn has left us."

"Hyelda," Eragon repeated, remembering the two members of the Grey Folk. "How did she die?"

Nasuada gave a hopeless, sad shrug. "I don't know! She just faded, and Azhborn was no help. He just sat by her side until all the life had left her .. And then went, back to … the others."

Eragon frowned. "I don't understand."

"Hyelda just … withered. And she taught me so much, Eragon …" Nasuada's voice dropped to a whisper. "Sometimes, I can feel rain coming from miles away. I hear the sea, I hear the waves in my sleep … Look …"

She lifted her hand, picking up a small paper weight as she did so. She lifted it to eye-height, and blew on it, concentrating hard. A faint bluish wisp of something seemed to swirl briefly around the stone; and then it lifted, and, under Eragon's astonished eyes, began to circle Nasuada's little finger.

"How -?"

"It's … I don't know …" Nasuada said, watching it circle each of her fingers in turn, " … There are reasons behind it … science and magic, all in one … but I swore I would not reveal the secrets of the Grey Folk to anyone … not even you."

"Of course," Eragon said quietly, and raised his gaze to her. "But are you ill, really, physically?"

"I don't know." Nasuada abruptly dropped her hand, and the stone thumped onto the floor. "I have come to dislike this leadership. I love the Varden; I would put my life at risk for it, for all my men and the women who support us, but I … I chafe under these restrictions, where I cannot leave this pavilion, where somebody, somewhere, wants to see me all the time …"

The weak sun outside sailed behind a cloud; in the sudden ensuing darkness inside the tent, Nasuada seemed to emit a faint, bluish glow. Her face was twisted with sadness.

"But you have captured half of this Empire, you have brought us right outside the very gates of Uru'Baen, Nasuada. How many other leaders of the Varden - of anything - could say that?"

"The one we're going to fight, for one thing," she replied, then shook her head. "Well, never mind, Eragon. I know what I have to do, and I will do it. I will fight with my army tomorrow, for good or for bad." She looked up, and then away again, sighing. "But if we win …" she smiled, a small secret smile. "I just hope Orrin's exploding powder works."

"So do I," Eragon said, looking rather sceptical of this. "But don't put all your faith behind it, you know …"

"Oh, by all the Gods, Eragon, I am not going to." She smiled, but it did not last very long. "Did you know? He asked me to marry him?"

"What!" Eragon jumped, and stared as if she had grown another head. Nasuada blinked, bemused by his vehemence.

"Yes … he said it would be a good alliance, strengthen the ties between the Varden and Surda …"

"What nonsense," Eragon said coolly, his face changing somehow; he looked cold and haughty, and Nasuada was reminded of Brom, long ago, negotiating for the children of the Varden to be allowed to touch the egg as well as the elves …

"It is not nonsense. It was a very sensible proposal. It_ would_ strengthen the ties between us …"

Eragon's cold look left, to be replaced with one of dawning horror. "You didn't say _yes_, did you?"

"I asked him for a day or so to consider … but I told him no, in the end … it would be too difficult to manage the Varden, and be a Queen, and be married."

Eragon shook his head. "You _are _mad. Why would you even consider it?"

"It could have been useful to our cause."

"It would have made you miserable. Surely, no one would marry unless they wanted to, or if they did not love their partner …" he eyed her carefully. "I am glad you did not say yes."

Nasuada smiled, glad also that he was back. Life was much easier when one word from Eragon would settle any argument. "As a matter of fact, so am I. Political marriages are not the way we do things in the Varden."

"Good." He stood up abruptly. "When are we marching?"

Nasuada looked up, and now she looked as she had always done; calm and collected and well-prepared. "At first light tomorrow. Galbatorix will not attack before then."

"All right."

"And if you and Saphira can be spared, can you come to this tent at noon, please? Orrin and the Council want you to be here to talk about strategies."

"Very well." Eragon bowed briefly, leaving through the open flap; and Nasuada was alone with her thoughts once more.

--

"Angela?" Eragon said, cautiously pulling back the doors of her green tent. A strong, tar-like scent boiled out, and a cauldron in the middle of the room was bubbling rather sluggishly. "Angela?"

"Ah, hello!" She emerged from behind a tall pyramid-shape triangle of bamboo stalks, curly hair rather lank from all the steam concentrated in her one small tent. A handful of pale green shoots were in her hand. "I thought you'd be back. Hungry?"

Eragon eyed the cauldron suspiciously, and stepped further in around a basket of thistledowns. "No, thank you. I've eaten already …"

"Tea?"

Eragon briefly remembered the tea she had made him last time, at the Burning Plains. "Yes, please."

"What flavour?"

Eragon stared. "You're being very hospitable," he said warily, waiting for an outburst of exotic and insulting names.

"Oh, yes." She took a bowl of mushroom caps and emptied them into the tar-like liquid into the cauldron, and turned to him, face red with all the heat. "Well, Solembum mentioned to me that if you are going to die in a few days' time, we really should be nice to you."

"Oh, that _is _kind."

"Yes, we thought so," she said with a wide, false grin that told him she was ignoring his sarcasm. "Now, stop being clever and have some tea."

Eragon thought it would be quite dangerous to back on his acceptance of the tea, so he nodded. "Fine. But, er … you choose the flavour."

"Fine," she said, shrugging, and promptly bustled off, into a corner he didn't know the tent had. He waited, sitting on an upturned milk churn, and remembered the last time he had been in Angela's green, hot little tent. Last time there had been a child there, a child surrounded by food and whose violet eyes had been startlingly sharp …

"Angela," he said, watching her head over a row of spindly spider plants, "where is Elva?"

She bobbed up from behind them, a pewter mug in her hand, frowning. "Well, you didn't think she'd be here, did you? She's just a child, Eragon."

"Well … no, but … where is she? We cannot scry her when we try."

"Don't do that!" The curls waved alarmingly as she poked a separate fire that had a little kettle hanging over it vigorously. "She won't like that."

"What do you mean?" said Eragon uncertainly. "How does she know -?"

"Well," said Angela, dropping a spoonful of some dried herbs into the mug, "I'm not sure. I did test her, before we left Surda, but I didn't have much time -"

"Yes, _but what's wrong with her_?"

"Don't get all snappy," she admonished, waving a wooden spoon at him. "There's nothing wrong with her; she's just … unusual."

"How?" Eragon asked keenly, faintly worried despite Angela's apparent lack of concern.

She shrugged, and shoved the hot mug at him with a lightning-fast hand. "She always knows when there are spells around .. She took down one of Trianna's wards once, because she did not like the nature of it … too constricting, see - she likes to be free. And once or twice, she has managed small spells of her own. I saw her send her food around the room once, although what the point of that was, I don't know .."

"But," said Eragon hesitantly, "she does not feel others' pain any more?"

"No. But she is gentle, very gentle." Angela's thick brows drew together. "Well, mostly. She does have a temper. I dread to think of her ten years on."

"She does not hurt, then?"

"No. In fact, she is a very nice four year old child. She will be a good woman, a very good woman …" Angela smiled, a sad, wistful little smile. "There aren't many people you can say that about."

"Good." Eragon let out a breath he did not realise he had been holding. "But the dragon mark?"

"Oh," Angela dropped her spoon back into the cauldron, and picked up a mug of her. "Oh, well, it glows a bit when she uses magic, but so far she does not seem to be affected by it. On the other hand, I am sure it will help her one day. She is still an unusual girl, very much so."

"I am glad," Eragon said quietly, and took a careful sip of the tea; it was a kind of deep, purple-pink, and did not smell tar-like in the least. And it tasted as good as any of Bellaen's teas, so he took another sip as he absorbed what Angela had said.

She grinned. "You do like it, don't you?"

"Yes," said Eragon, eyeing her, "but you are being very polite. Do you want something?"

"No!" she said indignantly, brown eyes narrowing. "If I wanted something, I would _ask_. And then I would make you give it to me."

"Oh, I see. I do apologise."

"Last time I met an elf," she replied, eyes still narrowed, "they were not sarcastic. Who has been leading you astray?"

Eragon snorted, and almost choked on his tea. "No one! I have not gone astray!"

"Thanks to Saphira, I suppose," she sniffed. Eragon raised an eyebrow.

"Probably. But I am touched you think so much of me."

"Blockhead," said Angela good-naturedly. Eragon grinned.

"I knew it wouldn't take long for you to go back to that."

"There are some people," she said, shaking her head and emptying the rest of her mug onto a plant nest to her, "whose names are so apt, they stick permanently."

"I suppose I'm one of those lucky people, aren't I?" Eragon said, laughing, and stood up as well. "I have to go, Angela, Nasuada wants to discuss some strategies for exploding the outer walls of the city."

"Oh, she does, does she?" Angela rubbed her sticky forehead. "I worked for a long time doing that with Orrin. I hope he's grateful, him and his lady friend both."

Eragon stopped, surprised. "You helped him?"

"Yes, for a long time. I told him to use sulphur instead of the crystalline type, I told him charcoal would help - and he developed it." She peered at him through her frizzy curls. "I suppose Nasuada told you?"

"Yes. Is it - trustworthy? Can we put our faith in it? I told Nasuada not to …"

"Normally," she said, sighing, "I would tell you that seeing as I was involved in it, it is _perfectly_ trustworthy, but, you know … in this case, best to be careful."

"I agree," said Eragon. "Orrin's experiments can be rather unpredictable."

"Exactly. Especially with him mooning over that witch all day and night."

Eragon blinked. "That is rather harsh, isn't it? Who is she?"

"No, I mean it literally. It's Trianna."

"Oh," said Eragon carefully. "But didn't Orrin ask Nasuada to marry him -?"

"Yes," Angela said, waving a large fork she had picked from her basket of frog skins at him. "But that was political. This," she said with a very high eyebrow, "is _love_."

"It might be," Eragon said, watching her stab the frog skins and dangle them over the cauldron. "How do we know?"

"Oh, it might well be," Angela agreed, stirring the skins in. "I expect she's quite fond of him, really. But I have no doubt that Trianna would be very pleased to have a King on her conquest list."

"She'd better not mess around with him," Eragon frowned. "And he should know better, too."

"Oh, it's not like _that,_" Angel assured him, jabbing at a skinned leg that kept floating on the surface, "I'm expecting an engagement at any moment."

"Ah." He glanced at Angela, who nodded, looking very knowing. "I expect I'll see them both now."

"Isn't it exciting," she agreed, and then looked up from her cauldron. "Well, are you going, then?"

"Yes, yes, I'm going." He found the door, and pulled the flap back. "But it has been very good to see you again, Angela."

"I was surprisingly happy to see you, too, blockhead." She waved her fork at him, and sent black drops of her potion spattering everywhere. Eragon grinned, and left before any of that unknown substance could land on him.

--

Saphira was lying on the third level from the centre of the camp, and Eragon sat between her legs. The soldiers gave them a very wide berth, and they were content with that.

The sun was setting over the Desert; Eragon and Saphira faced the city they were laying siege to, not talking, but drinking in the fearsome sight before them.

The palace, on top of all the levels, was starkly black against the red sky. It was a spiky kind of building, with thin towers, sharp little minarets and balconies overlooking the whole valley. Impressive some might call it, but Eragon had seen Oromis's fairth of the Citadel of Illirea as it had been, and scorned it; it was only a copy, a false attempt at making something as impressive as the elves had had.

_Don't you hate it? Illirea was so beautiful, and he has destroyed all remnants of it … _

_I hate __**him**__, _Eragon said, scowling. _I hate that he made us fight like this. _

_I hate that he made Eridor fight like this. He is so young … _Saphira laid her head on her front legs.

_Not as young as when you first killed an enemy, _Eragon said quietly.

_No. But I wish I could protect him from it. And what if they fight Murtagh? I … could not bear that. _

_When they come, _Eragon promised, _we will make sure they are as safe as is possible. But we will have to trust to them to look after themselves. _

_I know. _Saphira snorted. _It is maddening!_

_You sound like Angela. _Saphira grunted and Eragon continued, _Have you seen Solembum today? He was not in Angela's tent._

_Oh, yes, I have. _Her voice lightened. _We talked about all and sundry. It is _very_ good to see _him_ again._

_It was good to see Angela, too. But she looks tired. _

_Everyone here looks tired. _Saphira sighed, and nudged him gently. _You and me, we are probably the best off out of all the nobility here. _

_I suppose were are lucky, _he said with slight derision. _But no one else has dead people whispering day and night in their minds._

_Was it worse last night? _Saphira said concernedly. _I did not feel anything as we were flying. _

_It wasn't while we were flying, _Eragon said, frowning, trying to remember. The memory was slightly hazy. _It was while out tent was being put up … I could feel them whispering suggestions to me … one even told me to put a peg on the top left corner!_

_They should not do that, _Saphira said, her voice worried. _What about Galbatorix? He has been using the Souls for years, and that was against their will; they like us!_

_He _is_ mad, _said Eragon gloomily. _Mad as the moon. _

Saphira agreed with a nod of her huge head. _Mad and dangerous. __And tomorrow we fight him._

_We might not, _said Eragon quietly. _He won't come out and fight. Or he might come out and … and just decimate us all with a single word._

_Not me, _Saphira said with a wobble in her voice. _I'm the last female. _

_And we will die before we let that happen, _Eragon said fiercely, putting his hand on her nose. _He will be the last tyrant; we will kill him or die trying, just we are expected to._

_I know. _Saphira lifted her head and butted him gently in the chest. _As long as Arya and Eridor live, I don't care what happens to us._

_Exactly, _said Eragon nodding. Saphira blew a soft cloud of smoke into his face, and nudged him around.

_Go to bed, little one. Sleep as best you can. _

_I will. _Eragon stood up, but did not go back to the level where his tent had been set up the previous night. He stood by Saphira's head, one hand on the tiny ivory spikes that ran along the ridge of her head; the sky was turning a fiery orange, and in the background Uru'Baen seemed to loom taller than ever above them.

Eragon and Saphira stayed there, stock still and silent, for long, timeless moments; only then the sun slipped behind the line of the Desert did they leave; and when Eragon did sleep, his dreams were a jumbled mix of voices, screams and the whisperings of the Vault of Souls.

--

The elven camp was a quieter, cleaner place than the Varden's own, outside Uru'Baen. In each group of tents, blue were-lamps were lit, and elvish soldiers crowded around them; they ate the way-bread Havar, and sang songs of war, and of the lands they had long ago lost; but most of all they were songs of sorrow and loss, and the futility of war.

Arya listened to these, cocooned inside Eridor's wings, and closed her eyes. Some of those songs, she knew, would be for her mother. There were already songs to commemorate her: Islanzadi Raven-Wing, Islanzadi, Warrior Queen; Islanzadi, most beloved of all others.

None of them, Arya thought, remembered Islanzadi the mother; or Islanzadi who had sung to her daughter in the evening.

Mostly, she was glad for that. She would keep those memories for herself; let Niduen's people think of Islanzadi as a Warrior, and a gracious Queen. She, Arya, would remember her mother as she wished to.

_Go to sleep, little elf, _Eridor said, poking his head under his wing and nudging her. _Go on._

_Yes, all right, _she said, and prodded his nose back. _Why aren't _you _asleep?_

_I don't need sleep, _he said promptly. _I have to guard you, you know. _

_Let Dathedr do that, _Arya said, waving her hand. _I'm tired, and I know you are too. _

_Arya, _said Eridor patiently, _you have to sleep. Close your eyes and stop thinking. _

Arya rolled her eyes and pressed her face into the cloak she was using as a pillow. _Fine. _

She did close her eyes; but sleep did not come, not proper sleep; but as she drifted off into the waking-dream that all elves experienced, she found that she enter her memories, or her fears of the future.

_She was by Eragon, and for some reason his hand was on her head. He was staring out at a city, a city with tall spikes and towers and made of black marble; the sun was setting in the West, and although it was a fiery orange, her vision was odd; everything was tinged blue, even the sky, Eragon's face and the fires of the soldiers. _

_And she did not speak; Eragon did not speak; and soon Arya's thoughts drifted away again, and she was dreaming of Ellesmera, her mother and her cousin the Queen, her cousin who sat on the Knotted Throne …_

_--_

_Death. Everywhere, Eragon could see death. For a moment, Aunt Marian's still, pale face was in his mind's eye; he saw her blue eyes close for the last time, and he saw her cold grave in a wooden coffin;_

_He saw Garrow's burnt, bruised body lying limp below a fallen beam from the remnants of their farmhouse; he smelt the thick, rotting smell of the Setihr Oil the Ra'zac has used to torment him. _

_Then he saw the Burning Plains, the red, scabbed ground covered in old blood, ripped armour, and the staring eyes and broken limbs of the dead; he saw an eagle swoop to down to peck at a dead soldier's unprotected eye. _

_He saw for a moment Durza's broken body, the burning sword Za'roc still lodged in his back, before a wave of burning, horrifying memories that were not his overwhelmed his senses … _

_He saw a huge battle field, where elves, men and dwarves lay dead together; he saw walls of a great city lying in he chunks of rubble; he saw the peasants trapped beneath it, dead or dying. _

_And suddenly he was in a sandstone cave; he knelt at an old man's side; his dragon lay amongst her broken bonds, and carefully shielded Brom and Eragon from Murtagh, the newcomer. He held the old man's hand tight, and leaned forward as with a dirty hand Brom beckoned him to listen close: and Brom spoke seven words in the rasping voice of a dying man._

"_That is all I can give you … Use them only in great need."_

_And Brom's face turned grey; and Eragon held his hand, weeping; and as the hours passed into daylight, his eyes dimmed, and his hands grew cold. And when the sun had risen to the horizon, Brom had passed into the void …_

And Eragon awoke, wide-eyed and sweating, and remembered the blessings of a man who had long ago died; and he remembered those Seven Words, to be used only in great need …

"… _For the destruction they wreak will be irreparable …"_

_--_

Bye!! I'll be writing again, but I'm so happy to be on holiday, without my sisters. No need to worry about what to eat, or having to cook it, or do laundry ...

Wish me luck!

PS: Invaderm, you KNOW you're one of the caring people. Besides, I have your story being imagined right now!)


	58. Death Followed the Rider

Well, I'm back. I have to say, I'm not much of a holidayer. (Another made up word! I'm good at those.) My sisters should not be left alone without me - and besides, the weather was awful! Rain, rain and wind. I wore three layers the whole time!

Anyway - I know I didn't reply to any reviews, but I put the ast chapter up literally an hour before I went. After I'd been working and Nia the goat escaped and ate all Helen's roses for the second year running. I didn't have the heart to tell her!

**Thanks, as always, for every review! **

_(Minor swearing in this, and some quite gruesome discriptions. Just a warning:)_

Chapter Fifty Eight

Death Followed the Rider.

Row after row of soldiers stood shoulder to shoulder, battalion after battalion, motionless, facing the dark mass that was Uru'Baen. They were waiting for the command; that one word that would let all Hell loose.

But their commander was also waiting. She sat stiff on her roan charger, visor lifted up. Naidel, the slim silver sword that was her inheritance, rested at her hip. Her dark eyes were turned West, looking on the huge gatehouse of the lower circles of the city, behind which the Imperial troops waited.

Slowly the portcullis was opened, hauled up by men hidden behind the walls. The cranks turned, and the troops came pouring out. Each one clothed in black, armour new and shining; the red flame of Galbatorix was stitched upon every hauberk.

The black mass seethed from the gates, like black flies settling on a dead thing. Nasuada spurred her horse forward, and stared down, eyes shining with a fell light. She turned back to her troops, to Eragon sitting astride Saphira, Daiithil in his hand; to Jormundr, Garzvhog, Angela and every other soul who was going to battle.

"This is what we have waited for," she said, not loudly, but somehow her voice carried, even as the army below them fanned out into their battalions. "For a hundred years we have waited, and plotted, and fought minor skirmishes; these have cost us many lives. But _this_ -" she nodded to Uru'Baen, black and silent, " - this is our last destination, our ultimate goal. Today, and tomorrow, and as long as this battle takes, will determine the fate of Alagaesia.

"So we are fighting today for a better land for our children, so that generations will be untouched as we have not by the malignancy of one man. We are fighting today to bring down Galbatorix. To see his Empire torn down, rotting at his feet, to see his soldiers dying as _we_ fight on.

"By the end of this day, Galbatorix will know us; he will know and he will _fear_ us."

Nasuada stood high in her stirrups, and lifted Naidel to catch the weak sun. The blue gems in its hilt sparkled as if in expectation of the blood it would soon taste.

"So, Varden mine," she said, her voice clear as a bell; it rang in every ear. "Let us do battle."

The standard of the Varden was lifted. And as every warrior ran into battle, as every horse reared and charged, as Saphira launched into the air and flew over their heads, the banner waved. The white dragon rippled in the wind of the galloping horses, and seemed to fly as they roared to meet to the Empire.

--

The elven army was marching; their swords lying gracefully at their sides, the archers with their sung-wood bows and tooled quivers; the daggers that poked from every boot, forearm and the wards that made the air crackle with magic.

Arya watched them all from where she stood with Eridor on a ridge above the camp site they were leaving. She had never realised, or perhaps had never listened, to the stories of how beautiful they were, going to war. Awe-inspiring and intimidating; her people - or Niduen's as the case perhaps was - had never ridden to war in her lifetime; not after the slaughter of Doru Areaba and the death of her father and Vrael.

But here they were, they had left their home, Du Weldenvarden, the Guarding Forest; they were going to fight! And while this thought may have heartened the Varden leaders, made the Empire hesitate and lightened even the dwarves' hearts, it only made Arya more unhappy. What was the point, if they were all riding to wreck and ruin?

_So are we, _Eridor reminded her. _We are riding with them. _

Arya nodded quickly; though his words were not comforting, she knew what he meant: they were going to keep their promise.

_I know. We'll do it, Eridor. _

_Of course we will. I will not have anyone saying we broke our word._

Arya took a quick breath and started to climb into saddle, ready to ride with the army passing below them. The promise she had made to Niduen, Queen Niduen, echoed in her head as Eridor prepared to take off.

_We shall fight and we shall keep going until there is no one left._

--

If, during the battle of the Burning Plains, Eragon and Saphira had seemed intimidating, invincible, it was nothing to the battle they were taking part in now. To the soliders they were killing, he and Saphira seemed to be some kind of monster, one that moved in unison, whose weapons were so great that there was no point in trying to stand against them.

Sometimes they turned to run, and were killed; sometimes they tried to throw their weapons, but the various pikes and daggers bounced of the wards a yard away from the intended target. When Saphira opened her mouth, fire burst from her jaws, cooking men inside their armour; where Eragon moved, the Empire was killed.

Daiithil was so quick it was a blur, stained red and bloody; Saphira, fiercer than ever, fighting from anger and the knowledge that this was the last battle of all, gathered no injuries. Her wings were often shot at, but the arrows stopped yards away; her eyes glittered with bloodlust, and nothing the soliders did could hurt her.

They realised this, in the end. Soon they concentrated their power on Eragon, and for their efforts were rewarded with breaking his finger, which he promptly healed.

But despite this, Eragon was uneasy. It was all very well, having unending energy, but it was frightening too. The voices in his head - in Saphira's as well - were whispering to him, rejoicing in the power he was sharing with them. They were telling him to kill them all, kill them, kill everyone, enjoy the power …

_Speak the words and kill them all … make havoc … destroy it … destroy them … death, dust … death …_

Eragon kicked a soldier's legs from underneath him, and shoved Daiithil through his armoured chest, barely noticing what he was doing. When he could look at the sun - see it, even, through the flock of gore-birds overhead - he thought that perhaps they had been fighting for two hours. Two hours, but he was not even fatigued!

_Death in the dust … death in the ruins … death to them all …_

It was an unwholesome energy, as if he had drunk a draught of the Ra'zac; fulfilling to a point, but empty, like a bag of flour dry on top but wet and mouldy below …

_Make them pay … make their blood run in torrents … stain the sky red … _

His magic was a different colour, almost; it was translucent, rather than all blue; he could see other colours whirling in it when he cast spells. He could feel the pull of the Vault getting stronger each time he killed.

_Victory-day … death-day … blood-debt-paid day …_

They were chanting in his ears, a throbbing hum in his ears. It obscured even the roar of battle around him, as if the noise were draining into the blood-soaked ground.

_Revenge … blood-running-down-the-sword revenge … arrows-in-the-sky revenge … bodies-in-the-ground … Revenge …_

"Bloody hell!" Eragon swore, and found himself staring at yet another solider as he said it. To vent his frustration, he cuffed the man away and used magic to take his life away; he was glad when he had done it. Why were they so annoying, so stupid? Why didn't they leave him alone, why didn't they realise he was more powerful then them? Why did they try to be brave?! Why did he have to keep killing them?!

_LEFT!!_ Saphira cried, butting into his mind, and deflecting the incoming sword with her head. It did not even dent her scales.

_Thanks, _he said tersely, and shot a ball of life after the man who had thrown it in final desperation. The voices cried their appreciation.

_Serves him right, serves him right, silly little man …! Silly little man, dead on the floor …!_

_But he was brave,_ Eragon argued weakly, for the first time. "He was brave."

Saphira shook her head, and even as she burnt more soliders, said: _Don't listen to them! Listen to me! Block them, just do what you have to do!_

_But I need their power, _Eragon said, knocking a spear from man's hand, and lopping off his head.

_Don't listen to the voices! _she replied urgently. _They want us to kill, to kill and kill and kill … _Her voice sounded strangled; she could hear them like he could. It was this, more than anything, that made him wake himself, to raise himself and break past the haze of blood and dirt.

He gently pushed his way into her mind even further so that he could see through her eyes, and therefore above the rest of the battling men, and was surprised at what he saw.

They were at least a league still from the real gates of the city, the slums where the soliders had been garrisoned. But the two sides had not disintegrated as Eragon had imagined they would be: whereas in the other battles he had fought in, it had degenerated into clumps of men fighting each other, somehow the Empire were still tightly packed into there own groups: there were vague shapes of battalions still, Jormundr still had command of his own men, and it was the same with the Empire.

But the Varden were pushing nearer, nearer the gates they wanted to enter. Eragon could not understand why such a vast army as the Empire was not pushing its advantage. But then it came to him, the obvious thing: they had no Rider, no dragon that roared and breathed fire and tore its enemies it two.

This realisation, though, made him more uneasy. Where was Murtagh, Murtagh who could also draw power from the Vault, whose dragon had used energy from that same place to grow at abnormal rates? He should have been fighting, definitely …

… It was a trick …

"_The gates! The gates are opening!" _

The cry came up from behind Eragon, and through Saphira's eyes, he saw the massive iron-studded gates opening again. There were drums beating from the other camp … he felt a sickening feeling of familiar recurrence.

From the gate house issued a fair company of men, all riding black horses and wearing black cloaks and deep hoods. Eragon felt a thrill of foreboding; and in between them walked Thorn, red as the blade at his black-armoured Rider's side.

There was a roar of welcome from the Imperial army as Murtagh and his black-clad men passed through their ranks, and came to the edge of the fighting. Eragon watched through Saphira's eyes as Murtagh and Thorn paused on the edge of battle; it seemed to him that for a moment the black helmet tilted, in their direction.

He snarled, to full of adrenalin, too angry, too filled with the clamouring voices of the Vault - _Crush them kill them bleed them dead -_ to remember his pity for Murtagh; this time it was blood-feud.

_Shall we fly? _Saphira asked, and Eragon retreated back to his own mind.

_No. Let's see what they do first. We will need to watch the mages, too._

Saphira grunted, and as she waited, disembowelled more men as Eragon overcame a minor magician and killed the knot of troops he had been protecting. Murtagh had moved by now. His black-cloaked mages had stopped. And as Eragon watched - along with the rest of the horrified Varden - Thorn flung himself roaring into the fray. Murtagh was a dark figure at his side, who killed as fast Eragon, and whose magic was a rather translucent.

_He's like me. _Eragon stabbed at the next man to come along, venting his anger on the Imperial soldier. _And those damn mages …_

Even as he thought this, a large clump of the Varden's men fell dead, their lives taken away as easily as snuffing a candle. Eragon snarled, and stood closer to Saphira's side; they would have to find the mages and kill, for they were too dangerous to leave for Du Vrangr Gata to deal with.

He pushed his mind past all the fighting men, and only stopped when he felt a magical presence. These were either Du Vrangr Gata or enemy magicians, but Eragon soon found one of Murtagh's mages.

But the mage felt him, too. His mind - dreadfully convoluted and twisted to be a likeness of the Twins' s long ago - and the mage's crashed against each other, and Eragon pushed cruelly hard, worming his way under the man's iron defences and blocking his attempts to enter his won mind.

It was harder than fighting any of the other magic-wielders the Empire had, but no one, ever, could hope to hold a candle to Eragon and Saphira combined. He broke through the other man's defences in the end - not without a certain amount of pain - and quickly looked through to see how many men he protected, and was preparing to kill him, when -

_The Rider, the Rider, we like the Rider, find the Rider -_

The mage dropped dead; and at the same time, Eragon felt a sudden rush of energy into his body. He stared in horror at the body of the man who had fallen at his feet: his hood had come off, and the face, bald and round yet somehow very old, was changing -

The skin was shrivelling, crumbling like chalk; the eyes, living just a few seconds ago, were drying out and shrinking inside the empty sockets; nose, lips and cheeks had lost their colour; in one short moment, only a pile of human-shaped bones and dry dust was left. Eragon stared, fighting utter revulsion.

_What the bloody hell happened there? _he swore, backed against Saphira's side. She flicked her massive tail, and two men and the dusty body were swept flying; Eragon could hear the bones dropping elsewhere, on other dead men.

_His store of energy from the Vault went into you … he died because he did not have them, _she said, awe in her voice mixed with disgust.

_Are all the other mages like that? _Eragon wondered, pushing back his shock and fear and coming back to his own body, knowing that me must equal Murtagh in his fighting.

_I hope not. _

_Where is he now? _Eragon asked, and Saphira, after a moment, said:

_By our left wing. I think he want to drive us into the cliffs, or back to our camp. And we have lost ground, yards of it._

_Damn. _Eragon stabbed at a foot-solider, and then stepped over his body. _Let me see. _

Though the ground was faintly blue through Saphira's eyes, he could see the way the Varden were being pushed back. And it was ground they urgently needed in order to get anywhere at all.

_Where is Nasuada? _

_She has fallen back; her horse is injured. _

_Damn, _he said again. _We'll have to organise a rally - lead one into their forefront ranks. _

_All right. _She chuckled as she roasted one last soldier. _Watch me. _

She reared onto her back legs, roaring as she did so, flames spouting from her nose. The Empire's line, before them, quailed, and seemed to halt. Eragon lifted his hand.

"_Brisingr." _Daiithil was lit with a crackling blue flame, that dazzled the Empire and showed the Varden where he was. "Men of the Varden! To me, to me!"

There was an answering roar, and all the men that could surged to Saphira, and to Daiithil's flaming blade. Eragon could see them all, armour battered, shields splintered, but still eager, still brave, still willing to fight and fight and fight …

"Men of the Varden!" Eragon climbed into Saphira's saddle, Daiithil lifted high. "Gather your weapons! We charge their line!"

From behind them and to each to each side of them, men came surging forward, lifting bows, waving spears and pikes. Their faces were alive with fire and bloodlust.

"Break their line! Follow us!"

Saphira plunged, diving into the throng of Imperial soldiers, head snapping from side to side as she disembowelled men and snapped off their heads; the Varden's soldiers surged around her, shouting hoarse battle-cries. Eragon could hear Angela shrieking in Urgal somewhere nearby.

All along the battle field, the Varden fought back with renewed vigour; Eragon heard a sharp voice snapping out commands, and glanced back once to see Trianna and her spell casters standing behind a troop of archers; as the arrows flew overhead, they guided them, each and every one, to a target; very quickly, the Empire fell back. They had not expected such a fierce attack.

Thorn was roaring; Eragon could the Empire's commanders shouting their own commands, but the Varden were determined now, to push their weight, to take back the ground they had lost and gain more.

And they pushed and pushed; every time one man fell, another was there to take his place; but still the Empire kept coming, dying, only to be replaced by another man in a hauberk with flame embroidered on the front.

_Can you feel the blood … hot hot blood, running, running down the sword … feel the dead men's hands, can you see their eyes …?_

The more that fell the happier the voices were. They clamoured in joy at every new kill, every bit of blood that adorned Saphira's talons and the flesh in her teeth. Eragon fought harder and harder, trying to dispel them, to stop them shouting at them but it didn't work. And with every kill, he grew stronger.

_Smell it on the air … taste the death, the sweet sour flesh … rotting, bleeding, bleeding blood … _

Both armies were becoming more strung out, battling in knots and groups all over the field. But Eragon could decimate ten Imperial soldiers at once, he could batter down the mind of any mage that dared to challenge him …

_Life-blood flowing, flowing on the ground … Life-blood dying, death-blood drying … see the dead men on the plain, see their life leaking out …? See their blood, red red blood, leaking on the plain …? _

Eragon gasped in a breath of air, and could taste the blood in the breeze; he straightened up briefly, and looked around.

Murtagh was still fighting, as ferociously as he and Saphira were, but they were at opposite ends of the battlefield, and Murtagh was not seeking out a duel - yet.

They had come so far! The centre of the Varden's army was still inching slowly forward; they were twenty yards from the walls … fifteen … Orrin's cavalry were galloping ahead, laden with the exploding equipment. Eragon watched, heart in mouth, wondering of perhaps it would work after all …

He saw from the corner of his eye Murtagh lifting a mailed hand, and knew that he was trying to sabotage Orrin and cried a spell even as Murtagh's own spell flashed through the battle.

"Atra né grammarye guiliath néiat!"

The blue ball hurtled past Orrin's men, and depleted as it hit the wall, flying in wisps of translucent light across every inch of the outer defence wall, and Murtagh's spell, slightly slower, crashed into Eragon's; sparks of every colour flew from the collision of the spell and Eragon's ward, but Orrin's men and their equipment were not harmed.

Eragon's face stretched in a triumphant grin, and in celebration Saphira shot a bout of flame at a foot soldier; but their joy was short-lived.

Turning to look at Murtagh and the few left of his mages, Eragon saw that he had stopped fighting; Thorn was glimmering with wards, but it was still possible to see his massive head, lifted up, snaking like the serpent Eragon thought he was.

What was he looking at …?

_Barzul, Eragon, _Saphira swore softly. _Look._

_Look at what -?_

"_The hills!_" A lesser commander of the Varden had shouted; Eragon could hear him, though he could not see him. _"Look at the hills!_"

With a dreadful, sinking feeling, Eragon turned to look at the jagged hills surrounding the valley they were fighting in. There little black things bristling on the tops of them, little black things with sticks and pieces of cloth.

Black things with pale faces and flames on their hauberks.

Pale faces shouting abuse.

Pale faces that started to run down the slopes, brandishing sticks that got bigger and bigger, pieces of cloth that swam into banners; men who turned into soldiers who turned into the Varden's downfall …

_Ambush, ambush! _Eragon's mind was crying, and he was no longer sure if they were the voices, or his own. _Ambush, ambush, ambush to kill us, bring us down, leave us lying in the mud, dead, dead, dead…!_

It had been a trap, all along; and now they were going to be crushed by the remainder of the first army, and the full force if the second one against the walls of the black city Uru'Baen. And there was very, very little they could do but fight until they died.

Saphira would be caught. Saphira. _The last female. _

This made Eragon shake off the voices; he leapt down from Saphira's saddle, and lit Daiithil with flames again.

"DON'T STOP!" he roared, and blue magic roiled off his hands. "IF WE ARE GOING TO DIE TODAY, THEY ARE GOING WITH US!!"

Desperation filled him, but anger as well; not the unwholesome, deathly anger of the Vault, but pure anger at dying so futilely, and the knowledge that he and Saphira could fight; and they would. Keep fighting until they were as dead as the rest of the Varden.

_No one will ever take you way from me, _Eragon vowed, and Saphira met his eye one last time before they leapt back into battle and certain defeat.

The new army had reached halfway across the field. The Varden were waiting, on tenterhooks, finishing off the last of the nearby Empire as they did so; Orrin's men were tinkering with their equipment, trying to get it ready before the second wave hit them.

The black army advanced.

Eragon could see many of the faces now, and wondered at the malice in them. Disillusioned indeed …

And suddenly someone else shouted. Eragon scowled, and wished the Empire would hurry up, because certain death was not a pleasant thing to wait for.

But the voice had come from the Empire. They were turning and looking back, exclaiming in fear and dismay. More figures had appeared on the hills. But these were not black; they were fair and bright, silver-armoured and they gleamed in the battle-light; their weapons shone with a fell light.

"THE ELVES! THE ELVES!" Eragon heard Jormundr shout it, and Orrin echo it; his heart beat painfully quick.

Yet another silence had fallen, hushing both armies into silence. Over the sharp hills came a shape, a barbed black shadow. It pushed though the mist, and into the pale sunlight.

How Eridor gleamed! His scales were emerald-bright, brighter than any jewel of the dwarves! His wings - had he, impossibly, grown since the last time Eragon had seen him? - made thuds in the air pressure that jarred the Empire's teeth and made them cover their ears and fall to the ground. He roared, and flame belted from his red mouth.

And as the dazzling light became less, Eragon saw that in fact much of his body was covered, covered by sheets of metal, thick as a man in some places, and inlaid with gold filigree.

_My armour, _Saphira said dumbly. Eragon stared.

The silver army lifted its weapons. They were singing; not in the Ancient Language, but in the Common Tongue; and soon Eragon saw why.

As they ran down the slopes - more graceful, faster than the Empire, singing as they went - Eragon saw other people behind them. People who were short in stature, but who marched in a steady rhythm to the song.

_The dwarves._

They had come with armour meant for Saphira, but found Eridor instead; they had joined the elves, and were fighting together, for the first time in so long …! Even in that dire moment, Eragon felt joy. He was himself a member of Durgrimst Ingietum, and he knew that the two races had never marched together since Doru Areaba …

The silver army were nearing the black one. Eragon waved flaming Daiithil, keeping a wary eye on Murtagh, who was still at the back of the Empire, and started to gather the Varden together.

"PUSH FORWARDS! CRUSH THEM BETWEEN US!" he shouted, and the Varden, with an answering shout of approval, surged forward, somehow finding the energy.

Eridor had landed. As the two armies moved forward to crush the Empire between them, Eragon could see him tearing, slashing, belching fire. Occasionally he saw Enëlya flashing, and once he saw Arya's arm raised with a dagger in it.

It was worse than _not_ having them.

The elves were so quick, how could the humans hope to compete? But with the stupidity - bravery, perhaps - that Eragon had noticed earlier, the Empire tried to fight them; and for their efforts, elves were killed, their beautiful eyes dull, their fair faces trampled into the ground.

Murtagh had re-entered the battle; he fought, and Eragon battled on; and Eridor and Arya simply hacked their way past anyone. The two armies - the Varden rather less in quantity than the Empire - surged forward, and the Empire was killed.

Men fell like flies. Eragon's wards held, but Saphira had a piece of chain mail in her teeth that prevented her from breathing fire, lest it melt. And all the time - as he stepped over dead men, their armour and their ruined faces - he and Saphira were trying to look out for Arya and Eridor.

What if Murtagh hit her with a spell that she did not block in time? What if their wards did not hold? What if a solider threw a dagger and -

This worry, and the fighting, distracted Eragon from the voices. Occasionally they chittered when he used a lot of energy, but Eragon found it easier to ignore them; for that he was devoutly thankful. It made fighting a lot easier.

The dwarves were still standing in their blocks; no one could disband them, not even the flam-throwers, and the elves were so quick and lithe it seemed they dodged the arrows the last of the Imperial archers shot.

"RETREAT!"

Eragon had expected those words, and so had the Empire. As the sentries in the city called the order, and Murtagh waved his men back, Eragon scowled. The Empire were so tired, frightened, that when the order was called, they all but tried to run back to the city.

They were going have to cut their was through the Varden first; and they would, because they were frightened. Eragon knew the frenzied actions of frightened men.

_What shall we do? Fight them or let them pass? _he asked Saphira.

_You are Nasuada's second in command. Do what you see fit. _

"LEAVE THE WALLS!" he shouted a after a moment's further consideration. "LET THEM PAS OR THEY WILL CUT US DOWN!"

The Varden saw the sense in this; as the Empire's retreating army thundered towards them, Eragon and Saphira led them sideways, and past the gates. "Keep going," he ordered a commander and a standard bearer; and as the men continued to march back around to the elves and dwarves and their own distant camp, Eragon and Saphira stayed.

Many of the soldiers had no magical protection. Feeling rather sick, but deciding to do it anyway, Eragon raised his hand -

_Magic! Magic makes the blood pour, kill them as they march! _cried the voices -

- and whispered one word. "_Andlat_."

He had taken their lives away, with as much energy as it took to lift an ink-laden pen. Knots of men, whose warding magicians were dead, fell down instantly, and were never to move again; their living comrades, exhausted, barely had enough energy left to cry out at these new deaths, and they continued into the city, tripping over the dead men as they went. But Murtagh looked up, and though he did not use magic, Eragon did not want to fight him that day.

They turned around and Saphira took off, flying back to the distant white tents of Nasuada's camp. The stench of the dead surrounded them; the gore-crows descended for their feast.

_Rode to death, found Death, hiding in the road; then Death followed the Rider, until his skin turned cold … _

_--_

Well, battles were requested! It was quite a lot of fun, even if it is my third go at the start. Happy summer holidays, those of you who get them! I'll update as soon as I can ... the Bosch man is here to service the boiler, so I'm off!


	59. Hell and the Devil

I've been so busy all week, I barely had a chance to write! It's been really hot,m for once, and we went down to the Royal Welsh. It was, in no uncertain terms, brilliant.

Anyway - 706 reviews! Thank you so much, everyone! So so much! Also, I am honoured to say that _Schnuffeline_ is going to translate this into German! Thanks to you, too!

**Another high gore-rating. Much death and disturbing topics, I think. One the other hand, less swearing. Enjoy! **

Chapter Fifty Nine.

Hell and the Devil.

_Death was waiting for the Rider,  
__waiting as he rode.  
__So Death followed the Rider,  
__to the battle's edge.  
__And Death found the Rider,  
__lying in the mud.  
__So Death told the Rider  
__to leave this world of blood;  
__Then Death took the Rider,  
__wrapped his neck in chains.  
__And the Rider followed Death,  
__as Death had followed him._

_JRS_

The night was falling quickly; the last of the daytime sky was hidden behind the clouds made of the flapping wings of a thousand gore-birds, and the fires the Healers and women had made for the exhausted men burned fitfully on wet wood.

Their screams of pain - from the tents, the open courtyard where the wounded were being deposited and the distant battlefield - rang on Eragon's ears, and he hated to hear it; he should of been used to it; he should; but he wasn't. He knew perfectly well that one mistake and he could have lost his arm, his eye, his leg …

_Yes, yes … aren't mistakes nasty? Don't they scare you? _said the Vault. Eragon scowled, spitting dried blood and mud out of his mouth and onto the floor as he strode through the Varden's camp; the voices had become fainter as his bloodlust had faded, but they chattered in his ears, like the apes of the Hardarac Desert.

_Shut up, _he muttered, and normally he would have been disgusted at himself for using such slang, the sort that Aunt Marian had banned them from using long ago. But he was tired, and worried, and something - he could not remember what - had hit his stomach, hard, and his belly was aching.

Still, he strode on. Saphira padded silently by his side. He would go to see Nasuada and then to the elves, to Orik and Dathedr, and Arya and Eridor -

"Eragon."

It was Angela, her shining armour dented. Even in the distant firelight she looked tired; absolutely drained.

"Hello," he said quietly, and turned back to see her. "Are you all right?"

"No, I damn well am not," she said shortly. "Didn't anyone ever teach that lot manners? Don't they know it's underhanded to slap in battle?"

"Probably not," Eragon said. "But I'm sure you gave him his comeuppance, didn't you?"

"Oh yes. He won't get his head unstuck from there anytime soon -"

"Where's Nasuada?" Eragon interrupted hastily. "And is she all right?"

"She's alive, if that's what you mean." Angela paused, and Eragon was alarmed to see her swaying as she stood. He put out his arms to steady her, frowning down at her.

"Have you got wards on your tent?" he asked. She blinked, yawned and gave him a cross-eyed stare.

"Of _course_ I have."

"Well, go back there," said Eragon, prodding her shoulder. "And sleep. I will see you tomorrow."

"I was going anyway," she replied, unperturbed. "And don't you dare disturb me, Eragon."

"No, I won't," Eragon said, to keep her peaceful. She waved at him, and meandered off, Solembum - in his cat-like form - following her, scraggy tail held jauntily high. He didn't look tired, but he was most certainly the only one who wasn't.

Nasuada's tent, dusty now, and ripped in places, was lit by one yellow lamp, and the elves that guarded it - Lana, by the looks of her hair and the other was Vanir by the insignia on his chest - seemed to sag as they stood. Eragon did not stop to talk to them. He was aching, too.

Nasuada was having her armour removed, and a young squire was unbuckling her metal bracers. Her dark face was streaked with blood and dirt, and the whites of her eyes were red. A beeswax candle burned on her desk, illuminating a map laid out on the wooden table top.

"Eragon." She turned heavy, tired eyes on him, and looked him up and down, seemingly pleased he was still standing. "I need you to go to the elves' camp - ask them their strategy, tell them ours."

Eragon sighed. "I don't know your battle strategy. What is it?"

"Sit down," she said, helping the squire pull off her breastplate, and sitting forward to do so. "I want the archers to take the brunt - I want the arrows guided by magic, the less men lost in fighting the better. So will you tell Lord Dathedr that our spell casters are tired, and most are not accomplished at anything more than Healing, and I would like his help with that -"

"I'm going to see Arya and Eridor," Eragon said firmly. "If you want tactics to be discussed now, we will take Annatar with us."

"Fine," Nasuada said shortly, eyeing him carefully. "Do that. Give Arya and … Eridor my thanks for their part in the battle, and give Dathedr my compliments."

"I will." Eragon made to get up, but stopped, watching Nasuada moving her arms and legs, free for the first time from armour. "Are you hurt?"

"Trianna and Lana have taken good care of me. I am fine." She closed her eyes, and put her hand to her brow. "But my horse was injured. I wanted to thank you, Eragon, and Saphira, too, for taking charge. We would not have survived very long had you not."

"We would not have survived without the elves and the dwarves," he replied. "So I will thank Orik for you as well."

"Yes, do that as well." Nasuada finally smiled, though it was weak. There was a silence, in which Eragon was trying to muster the presence of mind to stand up again and Nasuada leant her forehead in her hands, and stared at the candle. "If only Roran was here," she said suddenly. Eragon stiffened.

"What?"

Nasuada smiled again, and it was more substantial this time. "When Roran, rightful heir to the Bröddring Kingdom and direct descendant of King Palancar fights, my Varden are different. They are fighting to put him on the throne, you see."

Eragon stared. "On the throne? Galbatorix's throne …?"

"No. On the throne we will create, for the ruling of a new kingdom." She allowed herself a brief, embarrassed smile. "That is how I like to imagine it; and given a chance, I shall certainly create it."

"But then it will be yours by rights."

"No. I do not want to be a Queen …" Eragon was forcibly reminded of Arya "… and I will be a far better member of his Parliament."

"Roran's parliament?" Eragon said incredulously, blinking. Nasuada eyed him strangely.

"Yes."

"Has Roran agreed to this?" he asked, after a moment of silent speculation.

"I have yet to speak to him about it … he left for Teirm with his men soon after he realised his heritage."

Eragon shook his head; Roran, he knew, was a natural leader, respected and loved by the Varden for his work for them, and especially by the villagers of Carvahall. But still … as a King, instead of Nasuada no less? Eragon found that very hard to imagine. "And are you going to talk to him?"

"Next time I see him." Nasuada's eyes narrowed, and Eragon knew she was thinking the same as he. Unless Roran could fly, he was unlikely to reach the battle at all; and if they were defeated, he would be the last part of the Varden left, it would be up to him to retreat back to Fathen Dur, to repair it … if there was any hope at all.

"But we won today, Nasuada," Eragon said quietly, meeting her gaze and holding it. "We defeated _them_. There is hope."

"I know that." Nasuada rubbed her forehead, sighing; the papers on her desk rustled with unnatural energy. "But tomorrow we will start again … and Galbatorix has not been touched."

Eragon did not bother to reply. He stood up, and clasped Nasuada briefly on the shoulder. She nodded slightly, but said nothing either.

"I'll go and get Annatar," Eragon said quietly, and left Nasuada behind, staring at the guttering candle on her lamp, head in hands.

--

Eragon lifted the flap to Lord Dathedr's tent, and entered, Annatar following behind. It was filled with elves and dwarves, most standing; they paused as Eragon and Annatar entered.

"Argetlam. Annatar." Dathedr's serene face was unreadable, but his voice was kind. He bowed deeply, and pressed his two fingers to his lips. Eragon returned the gesture, as did Annatar, but he did not say the traditional greeting words.

"Greetings, Lord Dathedr. It is a long time since we last met."

"Indeed. I am glad that you and Saphira Bjartskular are well after today's battle."

Eragon inclined his head, too tired to do anything but continue with the careful, polite mannerisms that went with such types of politics. "Lady Nasuada sends her greetings and her thanks to you and your troops, as well as the Orik Konungr and his army; Annatar has been informed of her plan of battle for tomorrow, and he will negotiate on her behalf."

"I see." Dathedr, as he was meeting a subordinate, did not bow, but waited for Annatar to press his two fingers to his lips. "He is well received here."

"Good." Eragon glanced about, but the one person he truly wanted to see was not there. "How fared -"

But the door had been lifted again, and a familiar person marched through the door. He was tugging at his beard, and there was still blood on the great mattock Volund at his belt. Eragon would otherwise have greeted him enthusiastically and happily, but for the woman who followed him in.

Arya glanced at Annatar first, and then at him; and upon seeing him, froze, as if she was not quite able to believe her eyes. Her mouth was half-open in a little 'o' of surprise.

Dathedr cleared his throat; Arya's flicked towards him, and she let the door fall back and went to stand by Orik; she grinned at him as she went, and Eragon marvelled at how unaffected by the battle she seemed, and at how her smile was natural. What did he look like, he wondered, who had listened to the voices of the dead all day, and argued with them? But at least she was all right, unhurt.

"Ha, Eragon! Have you lost your tongue?"

Eragon looked away from Arya, and grinned down at Orik. "No. And how are you, your Majesty?"

Orik tugged at his beard; he did not look like a man bowed down by leadership, as he once had. "We are all very well, Eragon," he beamed. Eragon blinked, very surprised at his cheeriness. Arya moved slightly, and said quietly:

"Orik's son is very well, Eragon."

"Ha!" Eragon grabbed Orik's arm, in a warrior's embrace. "Congratulations, Orik!"

"Yes, yes." Orik's rough cheeks were reddened with delight at the mere thought of his child. "We have named him Orodüm - because he will serve his country as his fore-sires have done before."

"A good name, Orik," Eragon said quietly. "I am sure he will be as a good a Grimstborith as his father."

"He will be," Orik said, and he sobered. "Given a chance, that is." He looked around at the tent full of elves and his own warriors, and then at Lord Dathedr. "Well, Lord," he said, deep voice rumbling round the room, "we must start battle-plans, I suppose."

"Indeed, Orik King." Dathedr looked around at the gathered nobles, dwarfish and elvish. "What has Lady Nasuada to say on this matter, Annatar?"

"Lady Nasuada wishes for the fighting on the morrow to be taken by the archers, and the spellcasters of all the armies, as she cannot afford to loose as many men as she did today. With the combined efforts of the …"

Eragon listened idly to this; he would let the Varden organise its men; he was Nasuada's liege-man, but not a slave, and all that interested him at that moment was what Nasuada wanted he and Saphira to do.

But Annatar, Dathedr and Orik were in no hurry. Every tiny detail had to be planned, examined and taken note of; they were determined to have the upper hand in the next battle. Arya looked at Eragon, and touched his mind carefully.

_Do you want to listen to this? I have already heard Dathedr's battle strategy._

_No. I should, _he looked at her ruefully, _but I don't._

_Come outside. They won't dare say anything._

Arya straightened up, and simply left, lifting the flap and ducking underneath it. Eragon, with a raised eyebrow, followed her out into the night. It was very dark, because the lamps had not been lit in that pavilion, so it did not attract any unwanted attention, and Eragon could only see Arya's eyes and her dark hair.

"You do not look well," she said after a moment, and suddenly Eragon was glad there was very little light for her to see him by.

"But you do. Were you not hurt at all?"

"No;" Eragon concealed, just barely, his relief at hearing this. "Very little, and even then they were cursory wounds. I think they were too surprised to fight us." The satisfaction in her voice was evident.

"I saw you," Eragon agreed quietly. "You and Eridor … were magnificent."

"Thank you." Arya seemed genuinely pleased. "But it was Saphira's armour - Orik's men had brought it on the wains; I told them you were with the Varden, two days away, and they asked us if we wanted it … do you mind that we accepted it?"

"Of course not," Eragon said firmly. "We were immeasurably relieved to see Eridor protected with more than wards."

"Good." She paused, and looked at him as best she could in dark; Eragon was aware she was alerted to the fact something was not quite right. "We saw you fighting. No one … no one could touch you," she said, almost wonderingly.

"I know," said Eragon morosely. Arya stepped closer to him, and stared at him.

"There is something wrong. Are you hurt?"

"No," he replied, smiling softly at her. She raised her eyebrows.

"You won today. You lead _Nasuada's _troops to victory. You do not look very elated, or grateful."

Eragon could almost not understand what he was hearing; Arya, mere months ago, might not have noticed anything amiss, and would not have pressed him about it. And now, she would not let it rest. "It is nothing that has not been cured." He did not tell her that the voices had only left his mind when she had entered the tent, and smiled at him.

"You look like a wild animal that has been caged and fed on bread and cheese for a month," she said. "What has happened?"

Eragon still stared in surprise. "Do I really?" he asked. Arya nodded.

"You look very …" she unfolded her arms, and looked away; she did not seem to want to say it. "You look miserable … and tired …"

Eragon sighed. "I feel like that," he admitted quietly, and wondered how she had managed o make him say it; he and Saphira had emphatically sworn that it should not be broadcast to anyone that they were listening to the dead.

"Well?"

"It …" Eragon stopped, and stared at Arya. Should he tell her? Or would she be easier in her mind not knowing, and would it frighten her? But no; he could not do her the dishonour of thinking such a thing; and she would despise him for it. "It was the Vault, Arya."

She stiffened visibly. "But they will not harm you, you told us …"

"They weren't hurting us. They were just talking, whispering in our minds …"

"But," said Arya, face twisted with disgust and loathing, "you should be able to keep them out. Just don't listen to them!"

"It was hard!" Eragon replied. "They were telling me to kill everyone, anyone … tugging at my mind - even Saphira's!" His hands moved distractedly from Daiithil's pommel, to his chin, to the dagger at his belt. "They are very, very strong ... I was …" his voice changed, and became almost despairing "… towards the end I was talking back, telling them to go away, and …"

Arya caught his hands in her own, and held them gently but firmly. "But you did not," she said softly. "You did not let them control you … you won the battle, Eragon. You lead us to victory, and no amount of voices will ever change that."

"But …" Eragon paused, and squeezed Arya's hand tightly, to ensure that she was still there, and had not melted away like the dead men in his head. "But I am … I am afraid that I will not be able to resist them … that I will turn on the Varden …"

Arya's breath caught in her throat, and Eragon burned with shame that he had told her; but she soon spoke again. "You will never turn on the Varden. Never, Eragon. You need not fear the Vault of Souls. They will never take your mind, and you will never succumb to them."

"How can you be so sure?" Eragon asked, voice hushed. "You cannot know."

"I do know," Arya said softly. "I am certain." Her breath whispered along his face. "I am certain, because …" she stared at up at him, and touched his face gently. "Because I …"

"Princess Arya." An elf had appeared from Dathedr's tent, and Eragon was sure that his face was unnaturally neutral. "Shadeslayer. Lord Dathedr wishes to see you both."

Eragon raised his eyebrows, annoyed at this elf's intrusion, and the studiously calm expression on his pale face. Arya lifted her chin in a stubborn manner.

"Thank you, Lord Aravar," she said loudly. "I fear I lost track of the time."

The elf's gaze slid to Eragon, and back to Arya, who, in that camp, held more authority than he did. His cat-like eyes narrowed further and his bow was hasty. As he turned and went back to Dathedr's tent, Arya looked at Eragon, cheeks flushed and eyes sharp.

"That overbearing -" she stopped, checked herself, and spoke with her mind instead. _He has not the right to think to chastise me! _she said, her mind twisting and turning with indignation. _What business is it of his whom I spend my time with?!_

_He was rude, _replied Eragon. _Not the courteousness I have come to expect from those here._

_No! _Arya said derisively. _That is because he does not approve._

_Approve of what? _

Arya's face became guarded. She turned around, to go back to the tent, but said anyway, as Eragon followed her, _He does not approve of the decisions I have made. He does not approve of Niduen as Queen … and he does not approve of me and … and … _she trailed off, and looked back at Eragon gaze soft, but did not continue; Eragon entered the ten behind her with a heavy heart; he was sure he knew what she had been going to say.

Dathedr wanted to know how he, Saphira, Arya and Eridor planned to fight, how much they were willing to fight, and who they wished to lead. He was thorough and fair, and the talks lasted for at least another two hours; Eragon tried to listen attentively, and give them all his attention; but Arya occupied his thoughts; her soft words that had said she trusted him; her hand on his face, and the words she had never had a chance to say.

--

Eragon lifted his sung-wood bow, reaching at the same time for the control of the hundred arrows in his battalion; he pulled the string back, until the fletching touched his nose, and waited for the order to be shouted.

"_Fire!"_

Eragon's dark arrow flew out with the hundred of his battalion, joining those of the elves, and the wooden arrows shot from the dwarves' Urgal-horn bows. Not every one found its mark, and the Empire hid behind its' shields; but as the first row knelt, and the second fired over their heads while the first reloaded, the Empire fell like actors in a street-play.

They had marched back out at dawn, perhaps hoping to catch the Varden, and so press their advantage; but of course no such weak ploys could deceive all three armies put together. The Varden had assembled their archers, Orrin's cavalry and the Kull, the elves and dwarves in as little time as possible; and all were poised for battle. But first, the archers were proving their worth.

But the Empire was more controlled this time. The rows of black-clad men fired, dropped, and fires again as smoothly as the Varden did; around him, Eragon's men were falling. He wished he could increase the wards; but even with the power of the Vault, it was foolish to use so much magic on so many objects; but he felt every mind, every life extinguished as clearly as if it were his own pain …

"_Fire!"_

Again and again the Varden fired, dropped, and fired again; the Empire mirrored them; but was it his imagination, or did they fall faster than the Varden? Eragon could not be sure; but he hoped it was so.

The sky darkened; the gore-crows were screeching, wheeling in the air, waiting for their next meal; they obscured the little sun there was, and the smells of the bodies from yesterday only seemed to hunger them further.

The arrows flew harder, faster, making the light flash and the air thick with the strumming of bowstrings and the whistles of the fletching as elf, dwarf and human alike shot and shot until each and every quiver was empty.

--

Eragon drew a knife from the joint of his elbow; how the soldier had managed to get it stuck there, he was not sure, but it had drawn a little blood. Eragon lifted the wooden-handled dagger and threw back at the nearest soldier; it pierced his eye. With a jolt in his stomach, Eragon killed him quickly. The voices laughed in gleeful derision of this death. Eragon tried to ignore the sickened feeling in his stomach, and continued to fight.

He and Saphira had been at this only an hour; one short hour, but it seemed so much longer. The energy of the Vault filled them up, making every killing easy, every death and decapitation as simple as lifted a quill; but Eragon found it so very, very difficult to do as he was required to.

He must keep an eye on Nasuada, Murtagh and Dathedr all at once; he must guard himself and Saphira; he must remember to keep in the lead of his battalion and he must try to suppress the voices of the Vault. And -

They were always looking for Arya, and Eridor; there was no need, because they fought as well as he and Saphira; Eridor was untouchable, almost, in his armour, and Arya had had far more experience than he in battle. But Eragon desperately wanted them to be safe; though they were at opposite ends of the field, his heart was constantly in his mouth. What if Murtagh and Thorn attacked them? What if the mages tried to battle her with magic? What if … what if …

It was almost a nightmare; a bloody, red-tinted, nightmare, where men were killed, left in the dust, trampled; where bones crunched, and skulls were crushed into the dirt; where men and Lords alike met their fate, and where, all the while, Galbatorix the Black King waited, brooding, in his fortress …

_Death, everywhere; pain and blood, and tears falling on red ground, _said a mournful voice in his head. Eragon briefly wondered whose Soul was telling him this, and which battles he had fought in.

Eragon thrust Daiithil into the gut of a soldier and yanked it out again; the man's eyes rolled up into his head, and he crumpled to the floor. Eragon stepped over him, and with a quick movement, sent another man's head rolling. His blood soaked the ground, staining Eragon's armour red and wetting the parched ground.

_Blood is spilt, and blood does poor; the sky turns scarlet, and Death waits for his fill …_

--

Eragon stared wildly about; a thick line of the empire was approaching, and his men were ill--prepared as they broke right flank.

"HOLD YOUR LINE! STAND FIRM!" he shouted, throwing himself further into the fray, desperate to reach the wall, to give Orrin the chance to deploy his explosive chemicals. "AIM FOR THE NECKS!"

He had, in the course of the battle, found that in the armour of the Imperial soliders, a weakness occurred in the neck piece and the helmet, where a sword or pike would easily slip through, and slit the throat of the man inside. It was an unpleasant death; but Eragon and his men were now quite far past caring.

But the Empire kept pushing, harder and harder, and Eragon and Saphira threw themselves deeper in, willing the Varden to have the strength to continue on to the walls; once there, the battering ram would be brought forth, and the gates attacked.

From behind them, Jormundr appeared, leading a division of at least fifty men; with renewed energy, they surged forward; and the Empire fell back, dismayed by this sudden, fierce onslaught.

Eragon stabbed yet another foot-soldier, and stared up; Uru'Baen rose before them, massive, impregnable, shining black in the pale light. But it was easy to kill the last of the Empire, to signal for the battering ram, to turn and defend the position they had fought so hard for.

The battering ram came ponderously forward; and to Eragon's horror, he saw men appearing on the hills, men with horses, flame-throwers and fully-armoured knights on chargers.

_Not again, _he thought, cutting down another man, and watching as this new Imperial army gathered speed. The men in the city were shouting, screaming encouragement; Murtagh lifted Za'roc and lit it with a red flame of triumph. Eragon sagged inwardly; there were no armies of allies to save to them now.

He and Saphira quickly resolved to still fight, until they could no longer do so. And they turned away from the approaching army to continue with the work they had started; they were nearing the gates; perhaps they could get into the city before the new army broke their flank …

_Eragon,_ Saphira said, as she bit a man's throat, _look at them! Those men coming from the East!_

_What -?_ Eragon turned, shouting a spell as he did so to break the arms of the man running at him. His eyes widened. _Who are they?_!

More men - on foot, all of them, and clad in mismatched armour - were running along the middle of the hills, coming from the East. They had shields made of bright metal, and swords that caught the sunlight and gleamed; and a banner flew behind them, rippling in the wind, showing every man of every army who had come:

"_The King's mark!" _cried someone.

"_**Roran**__! __**Roran Stronghammer!" **_

"THE KING HAS COME!"

"_He's come back!"_

The new men - elves, there were, though, and Urgals, too - ran to the Imperial army. They seemed to run through them as easily as if they had been toys; Eragon watched them take the horses, kill the riders, watched two foot-soldiers bring down a knight and fix Roran's banner to the horse's saddle …

The Rose of the House of Palancar flew; Eragon saw that this banner had a hammer held over the rose, and six stars made of some silvery material …

And Roran Stronghammer, rightful king of Alagaesia, rode to battle under his banner, his men and his allies all roaring together in one voice: "THE KING! FOR THE KING!"

And the elves were singing again from somewhere, and their arrows flew; the Varden had all taken up the cry, and the King's name rang throughout the battle-field.

For the first time since Palancar had landed on Alagaesia, the four races fought together: The elves made their graceful, deadly way across the field; the dwarves stomped behind, steady, unbreakable, fierce; the men of the Varden and Nasuada Nightstalker, of the Grey Folk, cried their King's name, and fought on; and the Urgals of the Grashluk tribe and Kull of the Bolvek tribe roared, breaking skulls with their bare hands and stamping their enemies into the ground.

And Eridor and Saphira, last scions of a lost age, fought like demons possessed; their fire made the air crackle, their roars made the ground tremble; their talons were stained with blood and the flesh of soldiers dripped from their fangs.

The Empire was outnumbered.

--

Roran pushed his sword through an Empire soldier's chest, and gazed around. He had been separated a little from the fighting, and he had a chance to breath and rest. He was not yet tired, but he was dirty, and dusty, and he was not prepared to go all out; he needed to conserve his energy.

He stared sadly at a dead elf, whose fair face was filthy and whose blue eyes stared upwards: had Eragon been there, he would have recognised Lana the Spellcaster, of Nasuada's special guard. But Roran did not know her, and his sorrow was only that for an ally so cruelly beaten down. He stooped, and gently closed her eyes.

"Admirable," said someone, in a hard voice. "Now turn around."

Roran turned, feeling gingerly for his sword, and was confronted by a massive wall of red scales, and a ridge of white spikes. A man in black armour, with a red sword at his hip stood staring at Roran through the slit in his helmet.

"Murtagh Morzansson," Roran said, loud enough that his voice carried. The man's black helmet tilted to one side.

"Yes. Well guessed." He lifted his hand, and red magic poured from it, surrounding Roran and rendering him incapacitated. "And you must be my cousin. A pity we never met before."

Roran opened his mouth, and found that he could talk. "A pity indeed. But one can not choose one's family."

A hollow sound issued from the black helmet; perhaps it was laughter. But Murtagh Morzansson lifted the helmet from his head, and laid it at his feet. "Another truth! I see your skill is not only on the battlefield. But I have come to talk to you, as a member of my family Galbatorix has overlooked. I always find new acquaintances enjoyable."

"I," said Roran boldly, "find new acquaintances all the more enjoyable when I can shake their hand."

"Well," Murtagh's face creased into an unused and slightly sardonic smile; his brown hair was dark with sweat. "Well, I am sure you would like to run a sword through me as much as shake my hand. I do not enjoy being run through with a sword; so I will not let you go. And you will listen to me."

"Will I?" Roran replied, raising his eyebrows. Murtagh drew his red sword.

"Yes. Because there are plenty of other people who would like to know the things I am going to tell you."

"Is that so?" Roran watched the red sword warily. "But it is not true that you are bound in the Elves' language by Galbatorix, so that you can do nothing without his say?"

"I suppose Eragon told you that? He would; I expect the elves would not be happy to learn he has been throwing their secret language around like coins to a beggar. He has not told you the full truth: while my oaths are binding, there are small holes in them, where my will is my own."

"Are you going to give me a full lesson," Roran said, "or kill me?"

The Rider's face contorted with bad temper. "Be quiet! I have not the time to waste on ignorant fools! Do you want to hear what I have to say, or not?"

"Do I have a choice?" Roran replied coldly. Murtagh Morzansson smiled, baring long teeth in an icy grimace.

"No. So keep your mouth shut, and listen to me." Roran was not so frightened that he was not angry at this; he glared at the Red Rider, but said nothing. The longer he kept him talking, the more chance there was of someone coming to rescue him.

"You have more of a claim to the Throne than Galbatorix does - arguably. All my oaths have been sworn to the King, but ..." Murtagh eyed Roran appraisingly, "… many of them do not specify which King." He raised his eyebrows. "I am choosing a new king."

Roran's eyes widened in disbelief. He was sure he was being tricked.

"Don't you believe me?" Murtagh said. "No, I wouldn't believe you saying anything like that to me … but it is true. It is not because I care for you at all, but I never wanted to be my father." He raised his red sword, and the jewels in the hilt caught the sunlight. "But as you see, I almost have."

"I have seen no evidence to the contrary," Roran said angrily, straining at the magic that held him motionless. "I have seen you killing today."

"What about Eragon? And the other Rider? They fight like I do. I am not needlessly cruel."

"Why don't you ask the people of Therinsford that?" Roran snarled, trying to push forward out of the red magic. "Do you remember? There are none left, _cousin …_"

"I told you to keep your mouth shut," Murtagh growled, striding forward. Roran stared at him, blood pounding in his ears. "Keep your mouth shut and _listen to me_. I can get you inside Uru'Baen. I can make the city fall. Now are you listening?"

"I can't trust you," said Roran flatly. "It will be a trick. I will not bring the Varden into such an obvious deception."

"I _am_ telling the truth. But how can I make you see it? You do not speak the Ancient Language."

"You do to need to try and persuade me," Roran replied. "I will not take your bait, and you can kill me."

"I don't _want_ to kill you, you fool! You are the only person I can talk anything like the truth to, because you _are_ the rightful King! Isn't that good enough?"

"Not from a murderer, a liar, a traitor, a son of the forsworn …"

"_I am not my father!_" he cried, striding forward and pushing his face close to Roran's. "Are you yours? Is Eragon Morzan?"

"No," Roran said quietly. "But Eragon was brought up by father, not Galbatorix."

"Of course." Murtagh's face twisted, into a multitude of ugly emotions: bitterness, anger, hate, jealousy … Against his will, Roran felt a sudden, fleeting stab of pity. "Of course, Eragon had his beloved family. But I …" his lips twitched as if with a thousand swear words, "… I remember my mother. That is one thing Eragon will never have."

"No," Roran said again; "but he had a mother, none the less."

"That is wonderful," he sneered, and his dragon snorted quietly. Roran looked up at the colossal creature, at the massive ivory fangs, the slightly battered but bright hide that was as red as the blood that stained the ground. His eyes were sparkling red, and though his face was not as fine as Saphira's, it was also harder, leaner; to Roran, they looked very proud, very dangerous. "And when Eragon was whiling away his time with the elves, and the Varden and their Lady leader, I was in this city, being bound by oath after oath.

"And after I was firmly a part of the Empire;" Murtagh raised a sardonic eyebrow, "Thorn and I would often walk around the city, or fly over it; and our _duties_ -" he sneered, and fingered his sword, " - involved pulling a months worth of rent off the farmers every week. We know this city very well; I grew up here."

Roran set his face like stone, so that the Rider would not be able to read his expression. Murtagh continued:

"There are drainage holes in each fifteenth yard of the outer wall. The right application of strength, a spell expertly cast, and you and your armies could slip in like rats to a storehouse." Murtagh smirked - it was strained, and forced, and oddly painful - and Roran stared back at him.

"I find this very hard to believe - I have seen no evidence that you have any inclination to the Varden's side."

"I fought with you!" he spat back. "I could have brought Eragon back to Galbatorix, at the Burning Plains; but I did not, with the last of the free will I had left. Thorn might have been able to give chase, once I was healed, when Eragon and Saphira stole the green egg; he did not. I swore to myself in the Ancient Language that I would never tell where the dwarves capital is; and therefore saved them from his full might. I think you have many reasons to trust me."

"Prove it to me," Roran said, hard-faced. "There is very little you can do to make me trust you, Murtagh Morzansson."

"Just what I expected from Eragon's cousin," he replies scathingly, seemingly forgetting that he was Eragon's brother. "But first, I will swear in the Ancient Language that what I say is true. I will swear not to betray you, or let Galbatorix know this plan. And I will give you my blood."

"I can not understand the Ancient Language, so how will I know if you speak the truth? And your blood will not be special; there is the blood of hundreds on my hands."

Murtagh's lips made a thin smile. "I will speak the words out loud, and at the same time speak them in your mind. Then you will know my promise is trustworthy."

"Oh, really," Roran said, thinking fast; he had this done before, when the Urgals had sworn allegiance to him, and the elven spellcasters had translated it as the promise was spoken; it was foolproof, but … Murtagh Morzansson had learnt from Galbatorix himself. Who was to say he did not have some sly trick to play once he was inside his, Roran's, mind?

"Tell me: why do you want so much to help us?" he asked, to give himself more time. "Why are you so willing to cross Galbatorix?"

A dark flash passed across Murtagh's face, a look of brooding, painful anger. "I have always lived under Galbatorix's nose; he did not care when my bastard of her father threw this sword at me;" he gestured to the red, shining Za'roc. "He did not care that my mother was dying. All he was ever interested in was me becoming a dragon Rider - becoming my father - becoming his new Forsworn."

His voice darkened, a thunderous look clouding his face. "And when he had got me back, bound me with a million spells, taught all the evil spells he had learnt, he made us his _henchmen. _His obedient slaves, who could force other slaves into doing his bidding. He made us like toys; he made Thorn work like a ploughing horse, or a dog to play tricks for its master. Thorn is a dragon, a being more powerful, more magical, wiser, older, cleverer than any other; he is _not_ a plaything!"

The muscles rippled in Murtagh's face, and Thorn snarled low in his throat, lips lifting to show sword-sharp teeth the length of Roran's arm.

"We have pillaged towns, taking what plunder we liked; we have killed women, children, harmless old men … sometimes I see their faces in my dreams …" A misty, dreamy look took over his brown eyes, as if he could no longer see the captive Roran. "I didn't _want_ to kill them … but they were telling me … the voices … to kill them, kill them all … make them suffer, make their blood run down my sword … and they are so strong, so clever … I can't stop them. Anyway …" Murtagh, for the first time, looked truly deranged. "… I like it; they tell me what to do … and I follow them … they know me so well …!" A dreamy smile lifted the corners of his hard mouth. Roran stared, revolted and pitying. Did he have a fever of the brain? Or was he, simply, mad? He had not looked mad, before.

"But mother wouldn't have liked it." Suddenly he looked trapped, like a child caught in wrongdoing. "Nor would so Tornac. So we've come to help Nasuada." He fell silent, rubbing Za'roc's pommel distractedly. "I heard she was the leader."

Roran said nothing; he was not going to give this volatile man any information at all.

"I want to see Galbatorix dead. I do, I really do …" the maddened look faded from his eyes. "I would like to have a mind, free of spells and oaths and _him _telling what to do -"

Murtagh stopped, and with a gasp of pain clapped his hands to head, face screwed up in agony. "He wants me! He wants me now …!"

"What? Galba -"

"Yes, yes!" Murtagh staggered slightly, catching hold of Thorn to hold himself up. "I haven't got much time - do as I say, alright?" He gasped again, and his hands twisted in his hair. "Use the explosives -" how he knew about them, Roran had no idea " - on the iron drains, they come every fifteen yards. Send your men through, use anything you can - you will be in the slums, there will be no one to stop you. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

Murtagh nodded frantically, and picked his helmet from the ground, shoving it n his head, and doing the buckle by magic; he pulled himself up onto Thorn's back, suddenly stern and seemingly motionless again; Roran watched him go, wondering when - or if - he would release the magic holding him.

Thorn lifted his iridescent wings, spreading them with a gust that blew the hair of the dead elf on the ground, but which Roran not feel, trapped in his red bubble. His wing-beats made the air pressure thud and made the armies a furlong of grit their teeth; and as he got further and further away, and the wing-beats faded, so did the magic holding Roran.

He stepped forward, picked up his sword in its worn, and stared upwards, watching Murtagh Morzansson and Thorn fade into the black mass that was Uru'Baen.

Roran looked down, at the dead elf whose eyes were now closed, and at the tens of other dead around him. Too many; too many wasted lives in a fruitless battle.

Roran Stronghammer, rightful King of Alagaesia, whose banner flew over the hordes in the distance, drew his sword. He had made his decision.

--

Lieutenant Godfrey had been in King Orrin's army for many years, and he was, to say the least, very used to his King's sudden and often destructive experiments on the field of battle. So this wiring, this explosion job, was not too out of the ordinary.

That is, it would have been perfectly doable, had it not been for the fact that they were outside Uru'Baen, wiring these devices and covering them in strong-smelling liquid while a furious battle between elves, men, dwarves, and even Urgals was being fought around them.

"Withdraw!" snapped his commanding officer. Godfrey twisted the last wire, and ran away, back to the cover of the battering ram that had not yet been used, and waited for Sergeant to set the devices alight.

"Fire!" the Sergeant cried. With a deafening bang a cloud of grey, stinking smoke billowed p into the air; the iron gate was blasted into a hundred pieces, and shrapnel and chips of stone fell everywhere.

From all over the walls of the city, other bangs rang out, and clouds of smoke rose; the Varden army roared and surged forward, a battered, tall figure leading them, crying a fierce battle-cry; and also there was Nasuada with her slender, shining sword, and her bloodied armour signalling to her men that she was still fighting.

Godfrey lifted his spear in support, and so did his men; there was something about Stronghammer, when he fought, that inspired him far more than Orrin of Surda ever could. Godfrey thought that, if Galbatorix were to die - after all, Shadeslayer was powerful, as he had demonstrated that day - there was no one he, Godfrey of Borromeo Town, would rather see on the Throne than Roran Stronghammer.

--

Roran was knee-deep in mud, and other unnameable substances. The slums of this city were truly disgusting; there were open sewers, rotting meat and food in the alleyways; children, thin, disfigured and often diseased ran around half-clothed and furtive eyes; the adults were not much better.

And although Roran and his men had entered roaring, crying war-shouts, challenging the King to come out and fight, there was no one to meet them. Roran had ordered his men not to harm the civilians, and Nasuada had echoed his order.

Carefully, the Varden inched their way forward, along a wide, filthy thoroughfare, that, they hoped, lead to the main part of the city.

But where, where were the soldiers, the hoards Galbatorix had at his command? It was almost … too quiet …

"Move forwards," he said sternly, and they continued forward, always alert, always ready for the inevitable fight. But it never came.

They neared another wall, thinner and shorter than the outsides one - much smaller, in fact; but at every corner there was a sentry post, and at each post was a huge, bubbling cauldron; and on the walls were black soldiers, with spears and swords and crossbows that could split a man in half …

And Roran shouted a retreat, screaming to his men to run, to save themselves, because nothing, nothing could withstand this witchcraft Galbatorix had planned; and as he shouted, and his men roared in confusion, his own mind was screaming:

_Trapped! Betrayed! He betrayed us! He was lying! _

There was boiling lead in the cauldrons; the soldiers on the wall tipped them up, and the burning liquid boiled men alive, smothering them, burning into their flesh until they wilted, human statues.

Then the crossbows came; as the Varden tried to fight back, as they also tried to retreat, the crossbow bolts rent soldiers in half, splitting mail and bone alike; the oily smoke of the lead billowed around them, making Roran's eyes water inside his helmet.

Gods, was this Hell? It was certainly like all the descriptions of Hell Roran had ever heard. There was the fire, the iron beds of heated metal, the screams of souls doomed to be trapped, tortured forever by the Devil himself …

Roran put his arms about a nearby soldier, trying to lift him up, and shouting, trying to make a noise through the smoke in his throat, and flinched as he saw that the man's face was burnt through by lead; his bone was showing, the nerve-ends of his flesh raw and bleeding -

Too late; he had died. Died along with so many others, and all because _he_ had betrayed them, he had lead them there …

"Retreat!" Roran tried to shout. "Retreat, fall back -!" he coughed, and stumbled over a body. For some reason, Roran looked down at it; and he stared and stared, despite the chaos surrounding them. How could this be, how could it …?

A knife came flying through the air. At first Roran had thought it a missed him. But then he felt some warm liquid flowing down his hand, and he turned, lifting his arm to look -

To see the bleeding stumps of his two last fingers. And then fire erupted behind him from something - was that the roar of a dragon, Thorn, the Traitor? - and Roran's world went black.

--

There were clouds of evil, poisonous-looking smoke rising from behind the walls of Uru'Baen; the cries of dying men blew towards Eragon and Saphira on the wind; and there was a stench of burning flesh in the air.

On the other side of the battlefield, Arya and Eridor had stopped fighting. They were looking, transfixed, at the clouds of filthy smoke rising from Uru'Baen. They were listening to the sounds of men dying, painfully, slowly, without hope.

Eragon leapt onto Saphira's back, and she cannoned her way through her battlefield to the walls, where the holes were still filled with gases. Eragon jumped off her, and hastened to the gap, wanting to go through but not knowing what was on the other side -

Something - someone - was coming through. Eragon lifted Daiithil, and held a spell at the ready, but it was not needed. The man was Varden soldier, limping, holding his hand close to his chest, breath coming in great tortured gasps.

"Eragon," he breathed, stumbling forward, and Eragon was shocked to see Roran's familiar face twisted in pain, covered in blood. "Eragon, for the Gods' sakes, get them out of there. Call a retreat, don't let them go back …"

"What happened? What is wrong with your hand -?" Eragon broke off at seeing the blood running from the stumps of Roran's last two fingers. "Hellfire, Roran!"

"Dead, dead," he panted, sagging a Eragon held him up. "There is no hope now. Take them back to Tronjheim, lead the retreat …"

"What has happened, Roran? Roran?!" Roran's eyes started to close. He blinked dazedly, the greyness spreading over his face and saliva bubbled at the corners of his mouth.

"She's dead. Nasuada is dead." His head lolled to one side. "We are all … doomed … now …"

--

One word of warning: Take nothing, and I mean nothing, at face value. I have a million surprises up my (figurative) sleeves. Lol.


	60. For Eternity

Now then - quick update or not? Lol. **Thank you so much for all your lovely reviews, guys! **Enjoy!

Chapter Sixty.

For Eternity.

The scattered, exhausted, frightened Varden army was straggling back to its forlorn camp. For some reason, no one had followed them as Eragon lead a retreat, and Arya organised her elves and helped the dwarves; but the soldiers in the city had jeered and screeched insults after them.

Roran was unconscious; Eragon had lashed him to Saphira's saddle, and healed the two raw stumps of his fingers; but he had lost so much blood that it was hard to know if he would ever regain consciousness; and the Healers were so busy, so swamped with soldiers dead and dying that Eragon had to show them the rose embroidered on Roran's torn hauberk before they would take any notice of him.

The Varden's camp, now, was no longer proud and strong; the tents were stained, dirty, and sagging at the seams; dead men and their living counterparts lay in every pavilion and filled every tent. Trianna had been wounded in a fight with an enemy magician, and an elf had taken charge of the Healers, but they were unable to understand each other fully.

The massive, red, stinking battlefield below the camp was silent now but for the gore-crows and the cries of agony from all the soldiers, Empire and Varden alike, who were still alive on the field. There was no one to save them now. Roran was terribly injured, Nasuada dead - and only Eragon left, barring King Orrin, to lead the Varden.

Well, he would do anything, anything to save them; but what, what was the best course of action? Lead a retreat, as Roran had asked? Keep trying to fight? But over half of the army was gone, and they were exhausted …

_The leaders are meeting in Nasuada's tent, _Saphira said with only a tremor in her voice as she said that woman's name. _Dathedr is there, and Orik. Arya and Eridor are healing in the other camp._

_All right. _Eragon took one last look at the gods-forsaken scene before him. _I am coming. _

He and Saphira made their way through the sad camp, and found Nasuada's tent filled with silent, tired people. Orik was standing, legs wide apart, fists clenching and unclenching on the hammer Volund; Dathedr was sitting in a chair, his handsome face streaked with dirt. Orrin was sitting at the desk, head in hands. They all looked up when Eragon entered.

"My Lord," Dathedr said, standing. "My Lords, is it true?"

Eragon stared around at them all. He hated to say it, because to would make it so real, irrevocably true. Up until now, it could all have been a misunderstanding …

"Yes. Nasuada Nightstalker was killed inside the walls of Uru'Baen." A lump came into his throat as he said it; Orik cursed coarsely and jammed Volund into his belt. Dathedr's face fell slightly, and Orrin moaned softly.

"What do we do now?" he said helplessly, his dark face screwed up. "Nasuada dead, Stronghammer incapacitated, Trianna hurt …" He put his head back in his hands, and Eragon remembered that he and Trianna were betrothed.

"Nasuada named me leader in her place," he said clearly, despite the lump in his throat. "I will do whatever is in my power to save the Varden, as she would have wanted, and to bring down Galbatorix. The question is: do we continue, and try to overcome them now, or go back to Tronjheim and wait …?"

"Galbatorix will not let us just walk away," Orrin said clearly, and Dathedr nodded.

"He wants us dead; and he wants his revenge for the Empire we almost stole from him."

"I say we fight again," Orik growled. "We waited a hundred years for this chance, and I will not wait another century!"

"But the men, Orik," Eragon said quietly. "We cannot do that to them - those that we have left."

"My dwarves will fight," he replied fiercely. "And by the Gods, we will give them something to sing about one day!"

"I think, King Orik," Dathedr said sadly, "we already have done. But who will sing about us? We will be forgotten and this Empire will continue to flourish."

Eragon looked at him sharply. "Are you also saying that we fight, Dathedr?"

"If you give the order, Lord," Dathedr said evenly, "the elves will ride again, for one last time."

Eragon shook his head slowly. "I am not a coward, and I know how the old tales go: where everyone rides together one last time in the final battle. But I do not wish to subject the Varden to this. I do not want the elves to die in a hopeless battle, and I think that the dwarves of my Clan and all the others would be much better used if they could live their lives out fully. I do not think a final stand is the answer to this."

"And I do not want to lose my life, Eragon," Orik declared loudly, "but I would rather die in clean battle than hunted down by a magician on a dragon and killed like an escaped slave."

"I agree," Orrin said unexpectedly. "And if fighting is not the answer, Rider, what is?"

"It is what everyone here wants. Galbatorix dead. Killed by the only people now alive who can." Eragon stared around at them all. "Saphira and I will fight him, and that will decide our future."

There was a long silence, in which no one met the others' eyes; it was broken, eventually, by Dathedr. "I know that is what Saphira's egg was, primarily, stolen for. But if you loose, and are killed, then there will be no one to lead us."

"It may seem that way," Eragon acknowledged with a dip of his head, "but what about Arya and Eridor? And Orrin, you are a King, as is Orik; you both have countries, and you both have power. Dathedr, I know that Niduen Silvrena is now Queen, but you will advise, you will help her save her country.

"And what if," he said slowly, heart beating painfully fast as he looked at the tired faces all staring back at him, "what if we win? Then you will all of you be the architects of a new age, the rising of a new Kingdom and a rightful king on the Throne. And do not forget that my cousin yet lives. He will lead you, and the Varden. There is always, however small, hope."

There was a long silence; Eragon looked down at the table, trying to contemplate the enormity of what he was going to do, trying to decide if he and Saphira would survive it. Eventually, Orik spoke.

"How are you going to make him come out of his safe little house? He knows he is winning. He will not come out."

"He will," said Eragon slowly. "He will have to. Saphira and I," her looked up, directly into each of the other men's eyes, "know how to -"

He broke off in alarm. He could feel a very familiar and beloved consciousness moving across the battlefield below; he swiped the tent door away and stared down at the plain. And there, to his horror, he saw Eridor and Arya, walking across it, bending down to heal soldiers and help them find their camp. His heart jumped into his mouth.

"I thought you told them to stay in camp?!" he cried, looking accusatorily at Dathedr. The elf leapt up, and came to see what Eragon meant; and when he did, he hissed.

"They know we need more men … and you are forgetting, my Lord, that I do not control Arya Svit-Kona or Eridor, nor would they listen to a direct order from me."

Eragon nodded tersely. "If you will excuse us," he said to the others. "We will be back shortly." Saphira suddenly, curtly, thrust her way into his mind; fear emanated from her own thoughts.

_Eragon, look! Look at the sky!_

Eragon looked, and cursed in fear as he did so. A red spot was moving towards them, becoming larger and larger, growing wings and white spikes along its back.

_Thorn. _

The dragon got larger, and as Eragon had feared started to angle towards Arya and Eridor, who had not yet noticed him. Eragon ran, away from the tent and through the camp, until he reached Saphira, who had settled outside as a guard; there ten or so Kull a few yards away. Eragon turned to them.

"Come with us!" he shouted. "Go to the green dragon, and protect him _at all costs _from the red one! Is it understood?"

They grunted, and hurtled off, massive legs raising clouds of dust; Murtagh was now a black figure on Thorn's back, and Eragon leapt onto Saphira, strapping his legs in and holding tight as she jumped into the air.

--

Arya cursed, and drew Enëlya while recasting the wards on herself and Eridor, and got onto his back. She would fight another Rider, for the first time; and she found, to her surprise, that she was not frightened.

Murtagh and Thorn were drawing nearer; Arya lifted her helmet onto her head, and buckled the strap with deft fingers; the air pressure was thudding as Thorn's massive wings beat up and down.

Thorn angled his wings, and Eridor, well-trained by Saphira, knew that he was planning to dive at them; and as Thorn came swooping down, diving steeply, Eridor reared up onto his back legs, and swiped with his mighty claws at Thorn's hard face.

Arya grabbed tight to the saddle horn; Thorn had fallen to the right of them, and as Eridor launched himself forward to meet the other dragon, Arya found herself drawn close to Murtagh; a knife appeared in his hand, and she shouted a spell to deflect it; it went spinning away, and Thorn once more lurched back.

The red dragon was snarling like a feral dog, growling so that ropes of saliva hung from his jaws; Eridor did not back down, but he was silent, proud; and suddenly he leapt at Thorn, chest bashing chest, and they snarled as they tried to tear at the other, to rip the skin and bite deep into the flesh.

Arya lifted Enëlya, staring at the black slit in the helmet of Murtagh Morzansson. It was hard to believe that this crazed dragon was a thinking, sentient being when he brawled in the way he was doing; the earth shook beneath them.

Thorn lifted his head and roared; he had not been able to get a grip on Eridor, because his armour was too well-made; but as Eridor coiled himself for another spring, the red dragon lowered his head; and flames roared in a raging inferno from his mouth -

"_Skolir_!" Arya cried, lifting her hand; the fire veered away from Eridor, and she glared, incensed, at the stupid, ill-bred, filthy human being who was tying to hurt Eridor, hurt the other half of her soul. She wanted to shout and curse at him, to tell him he was stupid; but all of a sudden, Thorn cannoned into Eridor's side, and as Arya lurched from the shock of it, Murtagh leapt from his saddle, flying into Arya and knocking her, stunned and breathless, to the ground.

His mailed arm bit into her neck from where lay where he had fallen on top of her, and he pressed down, hard, choking her. "You are an elf?"

"What does it matter?" she choked, trying to muster the chance to spit in his face. "We will _kill_ you anyway!"

"Do you know Roran Stronghammer?" he asked urgently. Arya glared at him through watering eyes, and slowly moved her hand to the edge of her belt, where her little silver dagger lay. She was not going to say anything, until he released her. "_Do you?_"

"If I didn't tell Durza," she gasped, colours flying before her eyes, "I will hardly tell _you!_"

"What -?" For the first time, Murtagh seemed to see her properly. He glanced down at her chest, because, though her armour was strong, it was not bulky, and her position clearly showed her figure. "A woman …?!"

Arya struggled violently, even as his arm loosened about her neck; his weight on her body shifted, and, shouldering his top half away, she kicked him between the legs. He fell heavily down on her, and she brought up her hand to slap him viciously across the face -

"Stop!" His hand came up to stop her, and it caught her wrist in an iron grip. "I did not know you were a woman."

Arya paused in her efforts to free her hand, surprised. "What does it matter to you?" she asked contemptuously. His betray rattled from inside the black helmet, and he dropped her hand, only to grab at her lighter, better-made helmet, and cut the straps open. As his ands closed over her head, ready to pull it off, Arya rolled violently to one side, and kicked him deep in the side.

He grunted, and fell sideways off her; but to Arya's horror he retained his grip on the helmet, and as he rolled, it was yanked, hard, off her head. She snarled, angry because she was sure he would recognise her, and reached with lightning speed for her dagger -

"No, no!" he cried, fumbling with straps of his own helmet. "I know you! You -"

Arya glared at him as he pulled his own helmet off; Murtagh Morzansson was much different than she remembered; his eyes were lined by faint wrinkles, and the whites of them bloodshot; his hair - the same colour as Eragon's, she realised with a painful beat of her heart - was long in the fashion of a Surdan rather than a soldier, and his mouth had a sad, bitter downturn to it. He did not exactly look mad as she had expected, but older in an unnatural way.

"You are Eragon's elf - the one we rescued." He stared at her wonderingly, and Arya kept a tight grip on her dagger; but his eyes were much like Eragon's, though without the warmth he had, and Arya was not sure - could she stab him? Could she, in the process, kill his dragon?

But Eridor and Thorn were still fighting, tearing at each other, Eridor desperate to get to Arya, to throw Murtagh out the way and to save Arya; she watched as, with a snap, Eridor's mouth closed on Thorn's leg, ripping muscle and sinew with a noise that was audible in the deadly silence of the deserted battle-field. Murtagh flinched back, and clapped an arm to his leg; Arya took that opportunity to launch herself at him, and place her dagger, point up, into his throat.

"I have escaped you and your master," she hissed into his ear, "once and for all. If you try to kill us, we will fight; and we _will_ win. If you try to take us back to Galbatorix, we will take our own lives rather than come with you. I do not care if I have to slit your throat to avoid this."

"I'm not going to fight you," he said in low voice, chin held high up to avoid the sharp knife. "And we will not try to take you back to Galbatorix. I came to talk to you, because I dare not go near Eragon; my oaths would make me kill him, but I have not as yet sworn any regarding you specifically."

Arya gave a low, humourless laugh. "You could not kill Eragon. He is more powerful than _you _can know. And why would one such as you wish to talk to us?" Eridor tightened his jaws around Thorn's leg; Murtagh flinched in pain.

"I want to tell you - about the information -" he twitched as Thorn whimpered "- I gave Stronghammer. I wanted you to know that - I did not -"

He broke off; blood was seeping down Thorn's leg and into the already blood-soaked ground; Arya signalled to Eridor to hold the other dragon slightly looser.

"I did not betray -"

But this time, Arya stopped him. She heard something, something loud that made the earth tremble. She looked up; there was a column of dust rising in the distance, made by several things running, straight from their position.

_Kull._

She smiled dangerously, and pressed the tip f her knife gently into Murtagh's skin. "See those Kull? They were sent by Eragon to aid us. Perhaps I will let you take your chances with them, rather than bothering with you both myself."

He shook his head ever so cautiously; the knife rasped on his flesh. "Do what you want. We will not try to stop you. All I -" he fell silent, face contorting with pain, "all I ask is that you hear what I have to say."

"I suppose the last wishes of a dead man are not to be ignored," Arya said coldly, though inside, her heart was beating very fast. "Speak."

"Aren't you kind," he rasped out. Arya prodded him gently with the dagger, just to remind him it was there. He cleared his throat noisily, and said:

"I told Stronghammer that the way I had told him to use into the city was unguarded; as far as I knew, that was the truth. But Galbatorix had extra men posted on the inner walls, and I never knew … I think … I think he read it in my mind without me noticing … I _did not _mean to betray you …" He clutched his leg tighter in the same place Thorn was hurt.

"I do not want the Varden to loose … I do not think we will survive this war, but … we do not want to be remembered as the ones who killed the rightful King of Alagaesia, we are not the servants of Him … we are Riders …"

Arya's fingers twitched on the handle of her silver dagger. "We thought you were acting on Galbatorix's orders," she said quietly. "Eragon … Eragon is devastated; you have made him leader by default."

"But …" Murtagh's cheeks were flushed; Thorn snapped feebly at Eridor. "Stronghammer lives."

"Do not pretend you do not know," Arya hissed. "You have killed Nasuada."

"My Gods." Murtagh's shoulder's slumped. "Oh, Nasuada …" He seemed to forget the knife at his throat, the pain Thorn was feeling; for a moment his eyes were faraway, misty and veiled with other feelings, other memories. Then he closed them, and the moment had gone. "I did not know there would be soldiers, I did not tell Galbatorix ...!"

Arya eyed him shrewdly. Was he acting? But he looked horribly deranged at the news. "Is that the truth?"

"It is," he vowed, speaking in the Ancient Language. "I swear it is."

Arya loosened the knife about his neck, and Eridor let Thorn go by a fraction. "But you are bound by the Ancient Language to Galbatorix."

"Ha." Murtagh moved very slightly forward, a sneer on his sweaty face. "The tighter he binds us, the larger the loopholes in the oaths become. Simply because we are forced to work for him does not mean we do not have minds of our own."

"Does it not?" Arya breathed softly, laying the knife now flat into his neck. "You do not give that impression."

"I am speaking in the Ancient Language," he retorted. "I cannot lie."

"True," she agreed evenly. "But aren't you an _excellent_ actor?"

He ignored this, and turned his head a little to gaze at the trapped Thorn; a bead of crimson blood trickled over the silver blade. "Galbatorix never said that Nasuada was … dead." He tilted his head, as if trying to see Arya, though she was behind him. "If she was … he would have known … he would have felt her life being extinguished …"

"Even the Great King Galbatorix can make a mistake," Arya said coldly. "Roran says she is dead; he saw her body. That is word enough for us."

"Then he is _wrong_!" Murtagh retort angrily; the galloping Kull were coming closer; Arya could now see a blue dot on the horizon. "Wrong! She is not dead!"

"What is it to you, in any case?" Arya said, frowning.

"I do not want the Varden to be disbanded because they have no leader," he replied, too swiftly. "Listen to me … Listen … Let me go … I will go back to the city, I will find her, I will discover what happened to her -"

The Kull were rushing nearer, axes raised; Arya could see their ugly faces now. She slowly let the knife drop from his neck. "I suppose that -"

Thorn roared in pain; Eridor backed away, and the red dragon limped closer to his Rider. The Kull's feet were thundering, the dust they were raising billowing out and making Arya's eyes water; and suddenly the creatures were upon them, howling shouting in their ugly language, hacking Thorn, and his bruised Rider -

"STOP! STOP!" Arya screamed, drawing Enëlya; but she could not hurt them, they were on her side …

Everywhere, the smell of them, their coarse language, their brutal weapons lifting, falling, hacking at the fallen dragon; Eridor trumpeted helplessly; he knew he could not hurt them. Arya threw herself into the fray, fighting to get nearer Murtagh, or to ward Thorn from their axes -

Saphira was landing, Eragon running forward, Daiithil lifted … he was shouting spells … Eridor called frantically to Saphira …

And suddenly it was over, the roaring, cursing voices dulled; the Kull were retreating, Eragon was sheathing Daiithil, staring, appalled, at something the dust was hiding from Arya's view …

It settled; first Arya saw the blood, stark against the yellow ground; the man lying gasping in the mud; then the red, shining hide that lay amongst the blood, and the massive hole in the long, spiked neck.

Arya ran forward, kneeling by Murtagh's side, and looking helplessly at the torn flesh of Thorn's neck. Eragon walked up behind her, and stared silently down at the Rider and dragon. Arya turned, wild-eyed to him.

"Can it be healed?!"

"No." Eragon's face was hard. "Let them go." Murtagh face was deathly pale; Thorn blood was speckled on his face.

"You don't understand!" Arya cried fiercely. "They are not traitors, they did not betray us!"

Eragon stared hard at her, and their eyes met; he seemed to read something in her gaze, because he moved forward to stand by Thorn, and reached out to gently touch the gaping wound in his scaled neck. Thorn watched him through tortured, pain-filled eyes. Eragon lifted his head to meet the red eyes.

"We cannot save you," he said gravely to the red dragon. "I am sorry."

He grunted with suppressed pain, shaking with the effort; a vast, foreign mind touched Eragon's, though it was weak, and the consciousness barely there. _Remember us, _he said, his hoarse voice barely a above a whisper. _We tried to do … what we thought … was right …_

"We will remember," Eragon said clearly; he laid his hand, carefully, on Thorn's angled head. "There will be those who will sing about your sacrifices long after this Empire fades."

Thorn grunted; with a gasp of hot breath and a wisp of smoke, his head feel sideways; the dull ruddy light in his jewel-bright eyes faded, and his huge frame collapsed; his eyes, forever dead now, stared sightlessly from a skull that no longer breathed; blood dripped down his sides and -

Murtagh screamed, a scream of immeasurable pain, the pain of losing your Soul and your mind; the pain of the most beloved one dying, and the cavity it leaves behind …

But the light in Murtagh eyes did not fade; he writhed in agony, screaming, crying out loud -

"Oh, Gods, let me die ... Please, let me die …" tears flowed from his screwed-up eyelids. "I cannot bear it, make it go away … let me die, _please_ …"

"Murtagh!" Eragon grabbed his arms, kneeling by his brother's side, aching for the loss he was feeling, miserable for the ensuing death. "Murtagh, it's me, remember me?"

"Eragon! Eragon," he gasped, pulling Eragon closer. "You can kill me! Let me be with him!"

"Stay quiet," Eragon said, holding the hand on his arm tight. "You'll be with him soon, I swear it -"

"You swear?" he gasped. "Swear it?!"

"Yes, I swear!" Eragon said desperately, holding Murtagh's sweaty face still so that he could see his eyes. "You will be with him forever and ever. For eternity."

A delirious half-laugh rattled from Murtagh's body. "Good, good." His eyes fixed on Eragon, an for a moment he seemed sane. "Shall I give your love to mother?"

Tears pricked Eragon's own eyes. "Yes. Yes, please do that."

His eyes were starting to glaze over; Eragon held tight to his hand. Murtagh stared at Eragon, as if he ere not there, as if he could already see the next World, could see their mother Selena …

"She's waiting for me," he whispered. "I have to go … they're both waiting for me …"

Tears tracked down Eragon's cheeks. "Yes, you do. Go on, then."

Murtagh's flushed face was paling, his eyes dulling. "Brother?" he said softly, meeting Eragon's eyes for the last time.

"Brothers," Eragon said, clasping Murtagh's hand tight. "Brothers, forever."

As the light paled in Murtagh's brown eyes, it seemed to Eragon and Arya watching that he smiled; he saw, in that moment between life and death, the other World; he saw Thorn waiting for him; he saw Selena, and she was smiling, waving at him; and in his last sight on earth, he saw his brother's face, and he smiled, too.

Then his head lolled sideways, his muscles relaxed. And so Murtagh Morzansson passed to the next World; and in his last moment he had been, at last and for eternity, at peace.

--

Again ... sleeves ... figurative ... Lol.


	61. The Destruction They Wreak

I know it's been a while, I've just been so busy! And all those reviews! Thank you all so much, I don't know what to do with them all!

One more month and out comes Brisingr. I. Am. Dreading. It. All my theories proved wrong!

Chapter Sixty One.

The Destruction They Wreak. 

Eragon wiped his eyes, and stood up, looking up from his brother's silent body, and stared around. The battle was over; the only whole thing in sight was Uru'Baen, black and deadly. No longer, Eragon swore silently. No more would Galbatorix remain untouched while men and dragons died and fought for him.

Murtagh had managed to kill three of the massive Kull. The other seven were gathering around them, closing their eyes and taking a hank of the dead ones' black hair, as was their custom.

And Thorn's ruined, still body lay close to here Arya was kneeling. She was staring at the dead man as if she had never known anything so riveting. Eragon would talk to her in a minute; but not yet …

Was Nasuada alive? It seemed incredible, but some small part of Eragon at least wanted to see her body. Just to be sure …

_Are we going to do it? _Saphira asked, voice surprisingly steady. She was gently licking a cut on Eridor's nose. _Now? _

Eragon took a deep breath. _Yes. _

Saphira closed her eyes for a long moment; she turned her head to Eridor, and two dragons stood silently side by side, stock still. _All right, _she said eventually. _Do it._

Eragon stared at Arya for another long moment. Her long hair was coming out its restraints, and many strands hid her face from view as she sat with Murtagh's head in her lap.

"Arya?" he said gently. She looked up, and her eyes were sharp and bright.

"Yes?" Her voice, too, was toneless. Did she blame him?

"Arya …" Eragon could not bring himself to move; he wanted to kneel down by her, and hold her hand and be kind; but he could not speak, could not say the right things … "I am sorry, Arya."

She lifted Murtagh's head from her lap with a firm but gentle movement and reached for her helmet. Eragon could not see the expression on her face. "Sorry for what?"

"For … for what we are going to do now," he faltered; Arya stood up, and met his eyes at last.

"What are you going to do?" she asked quietly.

"I … we swore we would never tell," he replied. "I'm sorry. I know will hurt a lot of people, a lot of _innocent_ people …" he stopped, choked with fear and shame and misery. Arya moved forward, eyes wide.

"What is it?" she asked, voice low but intense. "What are you doing?"

"I can't tell you," Eragon said, holding her hand tight. "I'm sorry, I can't …"

"Why not?" she said fiercely. "Don't you think I have _earned_ that right, Eragon? He is - _was_ - your brother!"

"He was," Eragon agreed quietly. "And he died because Galbatorix had enslaved him against his will … just like Garrow was killed because of a way to get to me, and Nasuada because she just there - my mother, my father … a hundred thousand other people, over a whole _century_. It has to stop."

"And how are you going to do that?" Arya demanded, shaking his arm gently. "_How_?!"

"If we can make Galbatorix leave," he said, looking down, not meeting her eyes, "we can make him fight us … and … and that will decide the battle. No more casualties, no more deaths."

"No, unless you don't win! Then you will be - be -" Arya paused, blinking quickly. "You will be… killed … or captured … and he will decimate us. Kill every single living creature who opposes him. And he'll kill _us -"_ she blinked quickly, "-and if you aren't there, then we won't fight, Eragon, we _won't_ -"

She shook his arm had, angrily, and dropped it quickly, shoving him away. Her chest rose and fell quickly. Eragon grabbed her shoulders, and did not let go, though she stiffened.

"I know that! I know it, Arya! I know what we are risking, and we wouldn't if there was any other way possible - but there is not! If we die, I know that the Varden will be destroyed, and I know that terrible, terrible things will happen, and I am so, so sorry; but we have to, because … we might win, Arya. We might end it, if we do."

"He -" Arya pointed to the huge hulk of Thorn behind her, "- he was a dragon, a dragon like Saphira and Eridor, and Murtagh was a Rider like us, and you are going to throw your life away so easily -"

"I am not," Eragon said vehemently, loudly; his hands twitched on Arya's shoulders. "Saphira and I are going to the best we can, for the best reasons. You know that … don't you?" he said desperately; she had to understand, she _had_ to …

She sagged slightly in his arms. She looked at him, and somehow her eyes were brighter than normal. "Of course I know that. But do you think it makes me any happier?"

"I don't want to die," Eragon whispered. "We want to stay here, with you and Eridor, forever. There is nothing without you both. We want to live."

Arya looked down; her hands were trembling; she was forcing down the same emotions Eragon was; but she looked up, and Eragon saw a line that was stark white against the dirt on her face, and the wetness around her eyes; but the next moment, she had pulled him to her, and her arms were around his neck.

Eragon held her tight, as if she were the last real thing in that world; because this was the last time he would hold her, the last time, perhaps, that she would see him alive; and he loved her, so much that his heart was too full with those emotions, with the loss of Murtagh, of Nasuada, and the terror of what they were going to do …

Arya said nothing; only the pulse in her long neck moved, beating softly against his own chest; Eragon touched her hair gently, marvelling at how soft it was, how sweet she was; how very soon he would have to leave her, and at how much he loved her …

A cold wind blew, bringing with it the stink of the dead, three days old. Arya's hands tightened on his hauberk. "What are you going to do?" she asked, once and for all.

"We will make him come out, and we will fight him." Eragon took a deep breath, turning his head slightly so that her hair brushed his face. "But first, you will have to get the Varden and the elves, and the dwarves ready to march … to run, even. Tell them to get as far away as possible in case this does not work. Tell them to hide, and to listen to Roran, and that you take my place in every Council but the Dwarven Consul in Tronjheim."

"But we want to fight with you!" she said harshly. "We stand a better chance together, you know we do -"

"No," Eragon said emphatically. "Never, Arya -"

"Leader of the Riders or not," she said loudly, pulling back, "you cannot rule our free will, and you cannot stop us fighting him, so stop talking such nonsense! I am not one of your -"

"Weak and feeble women," Eragon finished. "I know." Arya glared at him, eyes flashing. Behind her, a gore-crow landed on Thorn's slashed neck; Eridor, with a neat and somehow vicious movement, broke its neck and tossed it high into the air, licking the blood from his lips. Eragon stared, without really seeing.

"Help me get them marching," he said eventually, "and then when he comes out … we will all four fight."

"Good." Arya did not look pleased, because, in her eyes, she had not won a debate, because she would never have obeyed an order not to fight. Now she was only frightened, like he was. "You go to the Varden … I'll go to Dathedr."

"Yes." Eragon bent down, to Murtagh's side; his eyelids had fallen shut in his last moments, and Eragon, somehow, could not bring himself to touch his brother. But Thorn was lying with open eyes, and there were vultures above eagerly eyeing this feast. Gently, Eragon slid the scaled lids down, and held them there for a while; when he stood back, both Rider and Dragon were in peace.

Arya walked forward, and she alone touched Murtagh's face. Gently, she squeezed a green scale - why had she been carrying that? - into his clenched hand, and stood up, meeting Eragon's eyes.

"He was weak-minded to give in to Galbatorix's tricks, but he was a Rider, and his dragon died because we failed to protect him, though he was fighting for our cause. It is a debt unpaid. I will repay it."

Eragon held her gaze, and said nothing. He knew, and she knew, that it was hard to repay a dead man; but you could honour his memory.

Eridor touched his nose, quite softly to the other dragon's ruined head. A flash of mingled white and green light shot between Eridor and Thorn's body, and silently and easily, the torn flesh knitted back together; Thorn now looked truly peaceful, his body whole and unharmed.

But for the blood and paleness of Murtagh's face, they could have been sleeping. Murtagh smiled as he slept; and Thorn, wherever he was, was contented because Rider and dragon were together.

At least, this is what Eragon told himself, what he remembered of Aunt Marian's quaint views on death. But it did not alleviate the pain; it not stop the loss in his heart at loosing his blood-brother.

And there had been so much blood spilt.

--

Eragon gently peeled away the thin cloth covering Roran's burned face. It had been well and expertly healed with some thick paste by an elven Healer, but Roran was still sleeping. Eragon liked it better that way. It was an easier way to say goodbye; and Roran would never know.

The tent was filled with other injured men, and their groans filled the still air; Eragon tried not to imagine what would happen to them and the vigilant Healers if he and Saphira did not succeed. And to Roran …

His mutilated hand lay resting on his dirty coverlet. The smallest finger, and the next one along had been cut off, leaving nasty, raw stumps. But they were covered with tender new skin now, and Eragon knew that, war notwithstanding, Roran would be fine in a few days.

Given that chance, of course. And perhaps Eragon had never noticed before how easily a linen tent would go up in dragon-flames.

Eragon stared at his cousin's - brother's - face, but somehow that sounded strange now, as if the months they had been apart had changed them both; Eragon knew he looked different, he knew that he resembled an elf, that his voice held traces of three different languages, and that even the elders of his own village were rather in awe of him, and was surprised that he no longer cared. Too much had happened to him now for he and Saphira ever to have a peaceful life at home, because they had no home.

The best thing to do was to keep going. The Varden was the right cause, and that was the path they had chosen long ago, in Ajihad's study in Tronjheim. Now they were going to finish it; fight the last fight.

Eragon was lost in thought, in his last quiet moment. It took him a while to notice the drums beating from a long distance away. But when he did, his face paled at the same time as Saphira burst into his mind.

_They're opening the gates! _she cried. _More soldiers, come to finish this camp off! _

Eragon stood up, jaw clenched. _I'm coming._

Outside, the drums sounded loud ands triumphant inside Uru'Baen; but no soldiers appeared yet, perhaps because their barracks were deep inside the city. Eragon ducked into the command tent, and found no one there. Where were they? Hadn't Arya told them what to do yet?

But no one was making any moves to leave; the camp was as filled with injured men as before, and the wagons were parked behind them. As Eragon started running for Saphira, another person entered his mind.

_Eragon, they won't move. I have made every argument I can short of pushing them out of their tents, and they won't leave._

_Why not?! _Eragon cried. _Do they want to live?!_

_Not without you, apparently, _Arya replied, and paused. _I share their sentiments. They won't leave you to face him alone. Dathedr is rallying the last battalion of unhurt warriors we have. Orik's men are faring well. They are going to help, too._

_But -_

_Don't you dare argue!_ she interrupted fiercely. _There has to be someone to stand against the next army about to march out of that city, and you and Saphira can't do that yourselves. I said that Eridor and I would lead them. _

_Don't, Arya, please wait._

Eragon waited long enough to hear her sigh of frustration, and then broke the contact; he and Saphira he knew that the army had to be stopped before it marched out. And there was only one way to do that.

Eragon dodged past every panicking Healer, the soliders limping around, the Kull readying themselves for battle again. His wished they wouldn't; he wished they weren't so loyal, for a moment, so that they all would run, run far away; but they wouldn't.

Saphira greeted Eragon with a low growl. She touched his mind, and he was glad of her sudden calmness; she seemed resolved as to what they were going to do. _There is a small rocky prominence a half-league away. That will do. _

_All right. _Eragon slowly stepped from her leg joint to her shoulder, and pulled himself into the saddle. Although he was not exactly physically tired, his mind and body ached with every feeling under the sun; when he turned his head, the sun glinted on the black city.

As Saphira took flight over the deserted battlefield, the drums still rolling in their ears, Eragon could see that the gates of Uru'Baen on the second level were opening; soon thousands of Imperial soldiers would be pouring from the black gates, running towards the Varden, over the blood-soaked ground, roaring in eagerness of finally destroying the Varden once and for all.

Saphira, with unerring aim, landed on the knoll of rock she had seen earlier, and Eragon dismounted, gathering slowly more and more energy from the Vault; he did not know how much this would take, or if it would tire even the Vault out; but Brom had said so; and Brom was always right.

There were thousands of innocent people in that city - men, women and children. Eragon knew the words he had to say, but suddenly found he could not. All those people who had done that warranted death, nothing; and with a few words, he would crush them.

_I can't do it, Saphira, _he said weakly. _I can't._

_I don't like it either, _she said, lowering her head so that her scaled cheek touched his. _But there is no other way._

_I know. _But still Eragon did not do it. _If I do it, I … I won't be able to live with myself. Every day, there will those thousands of people's lives on my shoulders, and it will be my fault they died._

_If Galbatorix had not driven the Varden to fight him, we would not have to, _she retorted. _We are not doing this to torture like he does; we are doing it to survive. I told you that I will not compromise Eridor's life. If it takes Uru'Baen to save him - and Arya - then destroy Uru'Baen. I will not be a servant to the Usurper King, and Eridor will not be killed by him either. _

_We can't put two people before the masses, _Eragon protested. Saphira snorted.

_Such is war, _she said fiercely, smoke billowing from her nostrils. _We learnt that a long time ago, didn't we? It is all about who can make the biggest sacrifice. _

Eragon shook his head grimly. The last gates inside the city were opening, and the soldiers were ready to march out: time was running out. _Our lives are not a big enough sacrifice. Eridor and Arya are not ours to do so with, either, and the civilians in that city are … are …_

_Exactly,_ said Saphira; her voice was cold, but it trembled. _They are expendable. I'm sorry, Eragon … but they are … _

Eragon stared down at the battle-plain. He had killed hundreds of men in his time, but only in battle and the necessity of protecting Nasuada and the Varden. Never had he killed an innocent person in cold blood.

_At last, at last!_ cried the Vault, suddenly awakening in his fear and dread. _Do it, do it, Rider! Such power, such energy! _

A surge of power erupted from the Vault, filling Eragon's mind with it; Saphira desperately pushed at them, trying to rid them from his mind and Eragon struggled too; he could hear soldiers' feet beating behind the walls of the city.

_**Go away!**_he roared, finally throwing them out of his mind, and finding himself free. Saphira growled as they tried to enter her mind, but they could not break down the barriers of a dragon, dead men or not. _What shall we do, Saphira? _he asked frantically. _They want me to -_

_Don't listen to them! _she spat. _Remember what they did to Murtagh? They only want to feel the power, the death …_

Eragon kept the voices at bay, and struggled to think for himself. If the Vault thought they would simply do as they suggested and kill all those people in one go -

Damnit, how were they so strong? Why did they want his mind, and why did they want to feel Death? Hadn't they met Him enough? Wasn't being dead - were they dead? Not really - enough? And why were they pushing and pushing at his mind, shouting in encouragement like that? Why, why -

_Eragon. _

All of a sudden the voices receded. There was only one in his mind now, one dead man's voice. It made Eragon feel calm, and it made him remember.

_I told you to use them only in great need._

_I know. _It did not seem odd talking to a dead man any more. _You never used them._

_I would have done, if I'd got to where you have, _replied the dead man._ It's only one city, and hardly different to razing it to the ground._

_You could have their innocent lives on your conscience! _

_I created the Varden, _Brom replied. _I am responsible for more lives than you are. Besides; _he paused, and had he had breath, he would have been sighing. _Dead men have no consciences._

_How simple, _Eragon retorted. Saphira's breath was heating his face, but his vision was dimmed while he communicated with his father. _Does that mean that I will die, and not have to have a conscience?_

_You do not need to fear Death; he is strong, but he is kind; it is only those left behind that fear Him, and their time always comes. Whether you die now, or in a thousand years, it will be the same._

_You mean I should just do as I was planning to, and if I die, then that is all that can be asked. But I don't want Saphira to die, Brom._

_Better to greet Death together than to await Him separated. I am dead, in a fashion, and still my Saphira is not here. You do not know how blessed you are._

_Blessed to be alive, or blessed to be allowed the chance to die together?_

_Both. _Brom's voice - it was so real, held all the mannerism it had in life - softened. _The reasons you gave Arya were sound. You must do as you see fit, however. I cannot make you._

Eragon touched Saphira's hard cheek with one hand. _I know what I'm going to do, _he said. _I swore I would destroy the Vault and free you; and I will. _

_Very well. _Brom's voice faded from Eragon's head, though the others did not return. Eragon wished he had stayed; it was comforting in an inexplicable way to have Brom - father or not - back with him, dead or not.

He stepped forward, eyes clear at last; he could see every tiny detail, every staring face and set of dulled armour; now was the time; now he would do it.

Eragon lifted his hand; the Gedwey Ignesia glowed, and energy - _power_ - surged through his body, filling his veins with liquid fire, making the air around them crackle and spit with electricity, dazzling all those who watched -

Eragon gathered the magic, and spoke the Seven Words.

--

He did not know who he was, or where he was going, or _why_ he was going where he was. He just was; he was crawling through the rubble of a city, crawling, the meanest of beggars, the oldest of dogs; but still he crawled on, making his painstaking way through the slums of this city - the city that had been his home - then though the black archway to the next level.

For some reason the guards all stood back for him; they glanced at his sword, and drew away, afraid. He liked that, that they were still afraid. His soul might be dead, but his memory was alive.

The black thing in his mind was calling him back, whispering words of encouragement, drawing him nearer and nearer; so obediently he followed, crawling, staggering, pulling himself along the walls of the city.

The times the other person - a man with a whole soul, a real being - had strode these corridors, made men and women alike cower with fear …! The times he and his soul had talked and joked and practised magic together.

He was admitted to the long room, the dark room where bad things were kept, where bad things happened … There was a dark mass at the end, and it was a dragon, a massive, black dragon, whose teeth gleamed yellow ivory in the light of the red lamps.

There was a chair of black marble and velvet, and a man who sat on the chair, wearing finery and armour. There was a chained, diminutive figure before the chair, kneeling in a puddle of blood.

"If you make her talk," said the man on the chair, "I will give you back your soul … I will find you another …"

"Yes, master." The words were hoarse, but automatic. He was not sure where they came from.

"Make her tell us everything, my minion. Make her full of pain …"

"Yes, master."

He staggered forward, and stared at the figure kneeling at the foot of the chair. There were two eyes, red around the edges, brown in the middle; they stared ahead without moving. And black, blacker-than-night skin, that was covered by twisted, broken armour. There was long, braided hair falling down her back, and it was encrusted with blood and mud.

"Nasuada."

The staring eyes flickered to him, and back to the bottom of the man's chair. She didn't seem to care about her name. She didn't seem to caste about him. Somewhere, in his numb, mindless state, a stab of dull pain came. He did not understand it.

"Yes," said the man. "Nasuada Nightstalker. She has been a thorn in my side for a long time … we have hurt her … she has met the torture chamber, but she will not speak. If you make her speak, my friend, I will give you back your soul. I will make another one to take the place of the one you have lost. After all … it is not impossible."

The black mass shifted and growled. Yellow teeth glinted. The woman did not move, but he - oh yes, he had had a name, a mind, a body once, and a heart, too - he did not want to see her in pain, like this man that was apparently his master did. He did not want to hurt her, so he would not.

"Master …" His tattered, ruined mind working slowly, "Let me take her … to the … the Room …"

"If you must." The man made more men come, and they lifted the woman up. He followed them, into a room his old mind remembered. It smelt of blood, and dead things rotting. There were sharp, metal things everywhere. The woman was put in shackles, and the servant-men left.

He moved to her. "Nasuada?"

"I knew you'd be along at some point," she said, in a faint but unmistakeably icy tone. "I suppose your master does not lower himself to torture people on his own?"

"I have no master," he said with a ripple of anger. "No more."

"Really," she sad, barely turning her head. "I do not care. My Varden is dying; my commanders are being killed, and my kin are already dead. Do what you wish to me. I will never give up the secrets I know, but believe me …" her eyes glinted in the tallow torchlight. "I will welcome Death when He comes for me."

"So will I," he said. "I wish … I wish were dead, but I told - Eragon -" he knew that name, but what a strange name it was! "I told Eragon that you might still be alive and that … I could get you out so that you could go back to your … Varden.

"You're lying," she breathed. He shook his head.

"I am not. I will not work for him any more. It is because of him …" his face contorted, twisted with anger and sorrow and loss. "It is because of him Thorn is dead!"

He gave a huge gasp of pain, and misery and absolute, infinite loss, and wet things were pouring down his face; tears, salty, hot tears for Thorn, poor Thorn who had died and left him all alone -

Nasuada shifted in her chains but said nothing. He turned away from her; such was his misery that magic started to glow in his hands from the sheer exertion of those tears, and red light flashed from the Gedwey Ignesia, that had once bound a dragon now dead and lost to him …

"What happened?" she asked eventually, trying to pull herself up; but he turned to her, and with a quick spell broke the manacles; she fell forward into his arms, and he staggered under her weight added to his weakness of body.

"Doesn't matter. I have to get you out; I swore I would to Eragon …" The tears were hot and fast. "He thinks I'm dead … he … he said I was his brother."

"He'll know," she said, and rough, bloodied hands wiped the tears off his face. "He'll know you're trying to help me, and he'll kill us anyway."

"What have we got to lose?" he asked hoarsely. "Death is all I want; and you are doomed to torture for the few days of your life you have left."

"So we are running to die," she said, and she did not look happy. "It should not have come to this."

"I know," he whispered, holding her as tight as she was holding him; they were as weak as each other. "As long as you get out, he can do what he wants to us."

"Do you mean it?" she said quietly, looking up, whites of her eyes glinting. "I have not forgotten the deaths you have caused."

"Yes;" No longer was there any guilt in his mind; he had no name, no identity, no soul; "I want you to live … it is my last … my last good deed in this place. Then I will go to Thorn." He swayed backwards and forwards with her weight. "And … I'm sorry, Nasuada … I really am."

She made a small choking noise, and exhausted, miserable tears leaked from her own dark eyes. "So am I, Murtagh."

_Murtagh! Murtagh, son of Morzan - son of Selena, Eragon's brother, wielder of Za'roc, Rider of Thorn!_

Murtagh gave a great gasp, of relief and pain; his name, he had a name; he had a mind unfettered by Galbatorix, and he had a gaping, weeping wound where Thorn had been. And he knew, with needle-sharp clarity, that this new-found strength of mind would bring Galbatorix easily and quickly to him.

"We have to go," he said, kicking away the broken shackles, and supporting her thin, weak frame. "He'll know what we're doing soon, Shruikan will sense me … he always does."

Nasuada limped along with him, as they neared the door, and Murtagh unlocked with a spell; the torture instruments gleamed one last time before the iron door swung closed. Murtagh put his bloodied, bruised arms around her waist, and together they hobbled through the Black Palace of Uru'Baen.

Blood was running down a wound freshly opened in Nasuada's leg; it sheeted down her calf, and left a trail behind her; Murtagh's face was thick and swollen from where the Kull had bowled him over; they were on the last leg of the Palace's many corridors; no one stopped them; nothing moved.

The city seemed to tremble as hundreds of troops were organised, feet tramping down the third gate and into the second level. Nasuada closed her eyes; she did not believe that Galbatorix would not notice their absence.

Murtagh shook her gently, and they ran as fast they could into a covered courtyard, and out, finally, into the air of the last level of Uru'Baen, high in the sky, that stank of blood and rotting flesh. She was almost relieved; almost.

"Murtagh -"

A roar rent the air, the roar of an animal rather than a sentient being; Nasuada turned, terrified, to face it; Murtagh cursed softly.

"He knew," he said quietly. "Damnit, he knew."

They stared at the creature before them; fifty, sixty feet high at the withers, coal-black but for the greying scars; Shruikan had yellow teeth, and yellow eyes; the black pupils were so large Nasuada could see herself and Murtagh reflected in their malicious glint.

_You stupid little weakling, Morzansson, _he rumbled, breaking effortlessly into their minds; Nasuada clapped her hand over her ears in a futile attempt to get rid of him. _I only let you go to have a little … sport._

The yellow eyes shone with a fierce bloodlust. _After all … you and that pathetic dragon of yours took my place in the battle - you owe me this much. _

"Go to Hell, Shruikan!" Murtagh cried; he was no longer lost; he had a purpose; he had to get Nasuada out. "We are not your toys any more! This is our revenge!"

Murtagh pulled Nasuada to the outer wall, where a drop of twenty feet finished in the ninth level. He was muttering under his breath, and the air was crackling with magic. Shruikan was laughing. It was like the earth breaking.

"Jump," Murtagh muttered, breathing hard. Nasuada sneered slightly.

"No. This is so much more enjoyable." She glared up at the looming Shruikan; he was simply watching them, mouth stretched in deadly amusement. Murtagh growled.

"I've warded the next level; just jump, and keep running!"

She stared down at the huge drop. She trusted him; she knew he had done so, but she hated Shruikan so much, wanted to give him one last shot …

"Will you come after me?" she whispered. Murtagh's brown eyes were serious.

"Yes."

"You're lying!" she cried; Shruikan growled, and twitched. Murtagh gave her a rough push.

"So what? Just bloody jump!"

"What's the point if you don't come?!"

"DO IT!" he bellowed; Shruikan prowled forward, grinning at their argument. Nasuada backed towards the wall, holding Murtagh's hand, meaning to drag him with her …

"SHRUIKAN!" she cried, and the air about her glowed silver-blue; her anger was rising, overtaking her fear; sparks flashed. "You are a filthy excuse for a dragon! Saphira Bjartskular will crush you like the parasite you are, and I will be there to see it! THE VARDEN IS NOT FINISHED YET!"

Three things happened.

The dragon rushed forward, roaring, bellowing, breathing fire; Murtagh ran forward to meet the dragon, magic billowing as it met fire; and Shruikan caught him in his colossal mouth, tossed him high into the air, and Murtagh's body came crashing back down, dashing his brains out on the flagstone floor, every bone in his body broken.

Nasuada closed her eyes on hot tears, and jumped. She was caught by the safety nets, and fell only a few feet as they broke with Murtagh's body. She lay face down, winded, bruised, and thrumming with adrenalin and the loss of her only ally in that city.

And then the city broke.

--

Arya started to run, as fast as she could to where Eragon and Saphira were, standing along on that knoll of rock; but she stopped short, and Eridor behind her growled softly: the air around Eragon and Saphira was rippling, flashing blue and sparks of energy were crackling in the air. She stared, afraid and worried. What was he doing? Why wouldn't he tell her?

His mouth opened; there was a terrible, blasted expression on his face. He said a small sentence, a string of words; and then all Hell broke loose.

A wave of blue energy shot outwards from the dragon and Rider, wheeling across the plain, making every person of all five races together cower and cry and cover their ears; it roared towards Eridor and Arya; she could see faces riding the wave, singing noiseless words, looking hungrily as they flew over the battlefield.

It passed through them - or was it over them? Arya staggered sideways into Eridor, and covered her ears, screwing her eyes shut, trying to hide - it hurt, inside and out; it was tugging at her heart, making her sorrowful for something she did not know about, making her bones ache and her ears pound -

It faded, and Arya turned around, to stare, horrified, but entranced.

The whole city was swaying; the marble palace, the massive walls, the tall black turrets all as apparently solid as the Beor mountains were swinging left and right, backwards and forwards like a slender tree in the wind.

A single slab fell from the tallest part; then a slate, and a gargoyle came crashing down; they were dashed into a million pieces and the tall palace crumbled; first went down the roof, then the walls dropped abruptly, crashing down on the next level in a could of smoke and dust and a noise so loud that it seemed to shatter her head open -

The first level crashed into the one below it; it fell through and tumbled onto the next; then the weight of the three floors, the black palace, and fortress itself dropped into the city: Arya felt a thousand minds crying out in terror, screaming as they were killed, or crushed or trapped by the rubble -

The huge mass of Uru'Baen, fallen against all hope, was hidden in a cloud of dust; the cries of dying people echoed over the battlefield; Arya saw Eragon fall to his knees, head in hands; she wanted tot go him, but suddenly, over the crumbling of the city, the shifting of the massive stone, there came a roar; the roar of a dragon but not that of Saphira, and certainly not of Eridor, standing silent behind her.

The Varden cried out; the elves whispered and gripped their weapons ; Arya turned away from poor Eragon - he had done it, hadn't he? Destroyed the city? - and stared at the billowing cloud of brown dust above the ruined Uru'Baen.

Through the dirt rose a barbed black shape, with wings twice the size of Eridor himself; the tail, huge, spiked with four ivory prongs, guided Shruikan through the air; his large, sculpted head on the thick neck moved snake-like as he gazed on his Rider's fallen city.

Eragon was looking up, staring; Saphira was trembling, with anger or fright, Arya did not know. Eragon was checking his armour and her saddle; they were readying themselves to fight.

Shruikan was gliding closer, colossal, deadly, terrifying; Arya reached for her own sword, graceful Enëlya, heart beating. He had said they would fight together, and she was damned if they were going to battle Galbatorix alone.

She turned to Eridor, and started to prepare him for battle; it would be the Last Battle now; the final battle in the fight for Alagaesia. And Arya and Eridor would be there to the very bitter end.

--

Eragon was not afraid; he was terrified, but he was not afraid. He was terrified of losing, of being the Varden's last hope, and losing; but he was not afraid of Death. Galbatorix had spent a hundred years, defying death; he, Eragon, was willing to go with Death, and to meet Him as a friend.

He swung into Saphira's saddle, as he had done a thousand times, and perhaps would never do again; he filled his whole being with energy from the Vault, and recast Saphira's wards.

She took off, springing from the ground and glided to meet Galbatorix; Shruikan was coming nearer, stark black against the noon-day sky; soon Eragon could see the armoured figure on his back, sitting in a tooled, ancient saddle.

The wind made from the black dragon's wings sent waves of air crashing into Saphira and Eragon; for the first time in a long time, they were smaller than their opponent; Saphira ducked and dived, smaller but neater, and the two dragons drew nearer and Eragon unsheathed Daiithil, lifted his magic hand -

But Shruikan ducked away from Saphira at they last minute, and came up to her side, and Eragon found he was side by side with Galbatorix, and that the King had not drawn sword against him …

"So, it is the brave Eragon Shadeslayer." The voice was rich, dark, though it echoed from the slits in the handsome helmet. "I always knew we would meet, though I hoped it would not be in such circumstances as these."

The magic in Eragon's palm glowed brighter. "We had hoped that you would have surrendered before we had to destroy Illirea."

"Illirea is no more," said the dark voice. There was no emotion at the mention of Uru'Baen's true name, or of the elven citadel it had once been. "And soon Uru'Baen will rise again, its majesty greater than ever."

"It never had majesty," Eragon said, staring into the black slit. "Only misery."

"Had you excepted my offer as your brother did, you would have seen my city, and would not have such heretic thoughts in your mind." The helmet, black inlaid with silver, creaked as the King turned his head; Eragon felt a thrill of fear.

"My thoughts are my own, as are my Gods," he replied coolly, heart beating fast and hard, but with anger also at the mention of Murtagh. "As is my family."

"You have no family," the soft voice said, handsome and beguiling. "I know what it is to be an orphan, to have your 'family' lying to you all the time. I know the desire to prove yourself. Those who work for me are always recognised, and respected."

It seemed to tug at his mind, in a fashion much like the Vault of Souls. Eragon resisted it, with a surge of anger.

"They are feared and hated; and besides," he said, lifting his head higher. "We are recognised from here to Tronjheim city itself. We killed the Shade Durza, we brought the Urgals beneath one banner; we stole the last dragon egg; we taught him when he hatched. We took Dras Leona and killed the Lethrblaka and their filthy children. My brother is Roran Stronghammer, rightful King of Alagaesia, and my father was a powerful man."

The rich voice was silent for a while; the black dragon kept abreast of Saphira with sweeping, easy strokes; he smelt of stale wine and animal skins and expensive perfumes. "Your father also was a dear friend of mine. I mourned his death, and still do. He would have been so proud if both his sons had followed in his mighty footsteps."

Eragon felt the slight mental pull snap; he was so ridiculous, this false King, this liar and traitor that he laughed, scornful and his voice was haughty, proud.

"My father _is_ proud of me; I have followed in his footsteps and strode beyond them; he knew you for what you are, and he fought you to his death."

"Ah, young man," said the King, shaking his iron head slowly. "I fear the elves have deluded you, filled you with the fairy stories they are so fond of. Whom have they told you is your father?"

Eragon took a quick breath beneath his helmet, and rather than answer, swiped at Galbatorix's legs with Daiithil; Shruikan moved away slightly, and Galbatorix rested his hand on an onyx-black sword at his hip, though he did not move. Eragon lifted his arm to follow up the move -

There was a flash of light, and Daiithil was turned aside by a spark of black magic. Breath hissed from inside the iron helm. Eragon gritted his teeth, waiting for the first blow on his part to be struck, but still it did not come.

"You are making a grave mistake, Shadeslayer," the King said, voice raised for the first time. "I will give you one chance to redeem yourself and mend your errant ways. You may work for me, and become a good and respected citizen again."

Eragon sneered behind his helmet, blood coursing quick through his veins. How could such a feared man use such weak and foolish tricks on him?.

"A low and foolish remark such as that it is not really worth answering. We have been refusing your offers of allegiance since I was fifteen, and you killed my uncle for no reason but to earn our enmity. I owe you blood-debts, Galbatorix."

"You will not join me? Your father had such high hopes for you, Eragon …"

"I have fulfilled my father's hopes so far," Eragon said, darkly enjoying holding close the secret he had, like a treasured possession. "There is only on more thing Saphira and I will do, and look! You have come straight to us. But my father helped with that, also."

"Poor, deluded boy," said Galbatorix. Eragon saw his sword twitch in the scabbard. "What have you been told? Who has been filling your head with lies? The elves hated me always, and they denied me happiness; I took only what was rightfully mine, and Morzan the Brave, Morzan the Faithful helped to do so. Are you not proud?"

"Morzan was a traitor, a filthy liar, and he stole an innocent dragon egg that became enslaved to you; he brought about the fall of the Riders, and we hate him!" Shruikan growled, and Galbatorix straightened slightly.

"There will be no treaty here today, you filthy murderer; _we give no quarter!_"

And with that Saphira threw herself into Shruikan's chest, and the bigger dragon pushed back; Eragon swung Daiithil in a blur of blue light at Galbatorix, who lifted his onyx sword - it was handsome, made of pure beaten silver at the hilt but the blade was black as night, and Eragon knew that Rhunon, years ago, had made this sword, unknowing that it would be wielded by the most evil man in creation …

Red and blue sparks splintered from the two mighty swords as the Riders swung again and again at each other, each blow stronger, each ensuing crash louder; and Saphira was biting, tearing at the other dragon, trying to get a grip on his scales but failing. Shruikan, neck longer and thicker, twisted around and caught Saphira's leg, biting and holding and trying to rip her flesh and break her bone -

Galbatorix shouted over Eragon's single gasp of pain; for the first time, there was real anger, true cruelty in his voice.

"You should not challenge me! You will not win, and you will both die; you will have doomed your race to extinction, Saphira!"

Eragon roared with anger at his _daring_ to say her name with his filthy mouth, and threw a spell at the leather stirrup; Saphira, at the same time, banked away from Shruikan and Eragon watched, blinking away sweat and the pain of Saphira's injury, as he watched Galbatorix's stirrup snap, and the great King himself wobble and teeter on his saddle.

Shruikan turned flashing yellow eyes to glare at Saphira; blood flew freely from her wound, but her bony face emanated smugness, showed Shruikan how ironic it was that he and his Rider were upstaged by a broken stirrup.

Galbatorix looked strangely unbalanced on his dragon with only one stirrup. Eragon stared. He would fly with Saphira easily enough with stirrups, and even without a saddle; perhaps the King and his dragon did not spend very much time together, did not fly together …? Well, Eragon didn't care; this was as good a time as any to push their advantage …

Saphira lifted herself higher, and they dived, bearing down upon the other Rider and dragon, and Eragon raised his hand and lifted Daiithil -

The air around Galbatorix and Shruikan shimmered, and seemed to thicken; Saphira slowed dramatically as she plunged into it, and Eragon cursed, because it was a ward of a type he did not approve of, and did not use.

"You will be sorry for this!" the King cried, voice echoing eerily from his helmet, and he was angry now, furious at being upstaged in such a spectacular fashion. "I may need your dragon, but the other …" a smile seemed to enter his voice, a humorous, cruel smile. "Well, he is expendable … he is not helpful to my cause … and his pretty Rider - is she not pretty, Eragon? - I do not think they are useful."

The black head turned to look down at the battlefield below; Eragon looked down also, as Saphira fought against the thick ward, and felt his heart stop. Eridor and Arya were running below, Arya's armour gleaming occasionally, Eridor's scales brighter, purer, prouder than Shruikan could ever be; and Galbatorix was lifting his hand, and black magic was flaring in his palm.

"Don't!" he cried, unable to move, but able to speak. "Don't touch her, don't you dare!!"

"You should not have insulted me, young Eragon. No one does so, and goes unscathed. This is your punishment …" Eragon could hear the smirk through his terror " … _little boy."_

He looked back down at Arya, and before Eragon could shout a warning, he had spoken his spell.

"_Andlat."_

A spear of crackling black energy raced towards Arya, and struck her squarely in the chest; she fell instantly, tumbling to ground as she ran, and lay still; Eridor keeled over silently and heavily, and lay curled on his side.

Saphira moaned, and Shruikan laughed, a rasping rumble like a mountain falling. Eragon tried vainly to move, to do anything to get to her, _anything_ -

"This is a prelude to your destruction, and that of the Varden," said Galbatorix, voice ringing with a certain glee. "I wish you luck with your elven lover, boy. Next time I meet you, you will be doomed."

The air thickened, so that Eragon could not speak, and Saphira could not move; Shruikan pulled himself upwards, and turned North. His huge wings carried him and his Rider swiftly, effortlessly away form the ward, from the ruined palace and the dragon and Rider he had mercilessly mown down simply because they were there -

Shruikan was fading rapidly away, and suddenly the ward was lifted. Saphira hung in agonised indecision before folding her wings back and dropping like a stone to the plain and Arya and Eridor's fallen bodies.

Eragon leapt off her back, stumbling to Arya's side; her silent body and scraped armour showing no signs of movement; Eridor was lying, eyes closed, a few yards away; he looked as if he were merely sleeping.

Was he? Saphira bent over him, crooning softly, nosing his still face; he did not move. Eragon, with trembling hands, undid the clasp on Arya's helm, and slipped it off over her head.

Her long hair was shaken loose from it restraints, and it tumbled down, knotted and bloodied, onto Eragon's lap. Her face was still warm, still soft as Eragon touched her cheeks, lifted her eyelids; she did not move, and, when Eragon held his bright silver bracers over her mouth, only the tiniest of mists appeared on it.

The sun was sinking behind the horizon; it cast its bloody light on the fallen Eridor, and tinged Arya's deathly pale skin red; Eragon sat with her head in his lap, numb and cold and frightened; he held her close, against a chill she could not feel, as Saphira cried a long lament that echoed in the dusk.

--

Just to clarify, in case - Murtagh didn't die with Thorn; Eragon was too miserable to check for a pulse, and then he went running off again, and Murtagh woke up. But HE IS NOW DEAD!! I swear, but I can't vouch for anyone else, I'm afraid.

As for Arya and Eridor … be very, VERY afraid!

Sorry, I've just had muffins … and the -- rang twice in the night while little Emma bach from 'cross the road was sleeping over. Don't ask.


	62. Two Immortal Men

Lol. I say nothing but - _**thank you all so much for all your reviews! Enjoy! **__I have been typing like mad for two solid hours this evening to get this up, I seriously hope it's worth it!_

And I've got that song Disturbia stuck in my head … I'll be humming it in my head all night now .…

Chapter Sixty Two.

Two Immortal Men.

"Eragon."

Eragon turned, and dropped his dagger onto the low bed; Dathedr had apparently decided he was no longer a lord. "Yes, Dathedr?"

He was not trying to be cold, or emotionless; now, after pain after loss after misery, it came naturally.

"You must come to my tent now. The others wish to speak to you."

"If they want to speak to me, they can come here. I am not leaving."

Dathedr came closer on silent feet. Eragon's fingers twitched in anticipation of a bad disagreement. "You have a lot to answer for, Shadeslayer. It was not your decision to take, destroying Uru'Baen as you did."

Eragon lifted his chin haughtily. Dathedr's gaze changed slightly to a more wary look. "Remember, Dathedr, who Nasuada left in charge of her Varden; remember that while the elves mourned in Du Weldenvarden, the Varden was being formed and we were fighting. Remember the sacrifices we have made, and remember that until now the lives lost have been mortal ones."

"There is no need to disagree about this," the elf said slowly, "but you must be answerable. If not for Uru'Baen, then for the Princess and Eridor. They might have been saved had it not been for your rash actions."

Eragon glanced down at the still, pale face on the low bed behind him, then looked back to Dathedr. "If you can stop his incantations, Dathedr, then by all means, take my place. But until then, do not concern yourself with the orders I have given, to the Varden and the instructions I gave Arya!"

"She was our last hope, Eragon."

"She was when Saphira and I did not expect to survive combat with Galbatorix!" he retorted swiftly. "But we are still here, still fighting, and we will bring Arya back as surely as we will once more fight Galbatorix!"

"You know as well as any of us," Dathedr said, a modicum of compassion in his cool voice, "that you cannot bring back the dead."

Eragon's shoulders dropped, the anger leaking from his body. He turned and knelt back down by Arya's cold, silent body, at the eyes that had not opened. "She is not dead yet, my Lord," he said quietly. "There is still breath in her lungs."

"Not yet," the elf said, emphasising the last word slightly. "Not yet, but we cannot pin our hopes on her. Whatever your crimes, we still need you."

"I know, Dathedr," said Eragon coldly. "Saphira and I must stay with you because we are the only ones who have any chance of destroying him. That is why you are not going to order solitary confinement?" He smiled bitterly. "The Varden would not leave me when total annihilation threatened; you will find no supporters of my dethronement there."

"We all want Galbatorix dead," replied Dathedr after a long pause. "Whatever your mistakes, the rights and wrongs, we are all still on the same side. That is all that matters. And you must know that I respect the Varden, and you and Saphira; we will not undermine your authority, if that is what you are worried about."

"Worried?" said Eragon, touching Arya's pale face softly. "Why would I be worried?"

"Come to the command tent, Eragon. We will be waiting for you."

He nodded, and Dathedr, after another pause, turned and padded out again; Eragon was left alone with Arya, in the dirty linen tent; there was no noise nearby; only the dead and dying were in the tents hereabouts.

Eragon had carried her back in his arms, too stunned to cry, too miserable to speak. Healers had slowly arrived, overstretched as they were. One tired woman had told him to lay her down with the other dead, and she would be buried as soon as possible. Only when Angela arrived had anything happened, and she was laid out in a small tent all on her own.

Now Eragon was alone with her, and he could only stare, hold her icy hand, touch her milk-white face. She did not move; did not even seem to breath. Her eyelids never fluttered, and her lips never parted.

She was not asleep; she was walking the line between life, and death; and it was a thin, precarious line. At any moment, she could fall, and be lost in the void; and Eridor, curled as if hibernating on the plain outside would fall with her; and then there would be no bringing them back.

It _was_ his fault. He should have fought that ward, shouted to stop her, to warn her; he should have stopped the spell, should have caught it himself; should have used the Vault to dispel the magic.

And because he hadn't, because he had been a spineless, idiotic fool, here was Arya now, fallen with her dragon, sleeping as dead.

What could he do? How could he justify and what now did the rest of the world mean? Nothing. Nothing but emptiness and a life without Arya, without Eridor, without laughter or joy. They were all as good as dead.

But he still had his duties, to the loyal Varden, to Nasuada, to Roran and not least of all to Arya and Eridor. He loved her so much - so that his heart ached, and tears would not fall. Gladly, easily, he would have sat by her side, held her cold hand, and waited, forever, for her to come back.

Arya would not approve. She had never given up, never lost sight of her goals; she would not want him to let the Varden and the war that was his responsibility to slip because of her. And besides, he, Eragon, had had warfare and politics drilled into him by two separate teachers; and morality and truth implanted deep on his mind by his aunt and uncle.

It was not an honest thing to do, to leave the Varden for the sake of one person. He had to lead them, because they trusted him. He had to do what was right.

But it was so hard. Eragon clutched Arya's hand tightly, his trembling around her thinner, colder one. "I love you," he whispered, over and over again. "I love you, I love you."

It did not give him strength but from his grief, he drew misery, and from his misery, came a strong, steely resolve: Galbatorix had to be punished; he had destroyed in many ways Eragon's world, as well as Saphira's. He had killed his father; Murtagh, his brother; Garrow, his blood-uncle, destroyed his home, annihilated his village, and had caused tens of thousands of unnecessary lives be taken.

And now he had taken Arya, the brightest thing in Eragon's life; he had crippled Eridor, the only other dragon in Alagaesia, and apart from their duties, there was very little else Eragon and Saphira cared about.

Death was preferable. But Eragon and Saphira would meet Death only at Galbatorix's hands; and if possible, they would return, to be with Arya and Eridor; and if - _when_ - they woke up, they would be there.

Now tears came, one slow drop after the other. But they did not last long. Now was not the time for weeping, and mourning, and giving up. This was the last part of the battle, the final battle, and it was to be fought by Eragon and Saphira only.

Alone again.

--

"HA!" Orik brought his fist down and banged hard on the desk beside him. Eragon watched him dully, and waited for the others to add their own outbursts. "Let him run! We'll have him now!"

"The Gods know where he is, anyway," Orrin replied, long hair straggly and unkempt. He sighed. "He could be in the Beors - no offence, Orik - the Spine, the middle of the Hardarac Desert … he could even be on Sharktooth, or Vroengard. It would take thousands of fit men -"

"- and women," Eragon interjected, for Arya, knowing how she would protest at that.

"_Men_," Orrin repeated, frowning, "which we do not have. There is a city to rebuild! Refugees to house, lists of dead to be made up, burials to be arranged, the wounded men on the battlefield to be brought in - and you!" He glared, wide-eyed and accusing at Eragon. "You are supposed to be doing Nasuada's job, and you have barely said a word!"

"Don't turn on me, Orrin," said Eragon flatly. "The Varden and Surda have been as one for many years now, and I value your opinion and help very much. Which goes for all of you," he said, looking around at the inscrutable face of Dathedr, the dark look on Orik's; "We need your help, but you must trust me to ask you to leave Galbatorix to Saphira and I. Our decision stands; the less of you hurt now, the better."

"What are you going to do, then, Eragon?" Dathedr asked quietly. Eragon raised an eyebrow, and looked away.

"I'm going to talk to Angela … and then I will know."

"Eragon, you know what is wrong with her, spell damage is often long-lasting - " Dathedr started, almost warningly, but Eragon held a hand for silence.

"I do not know. You were not there, you did not see," he said curtly. Orik looked from the elf, to Eragon, and said gruffly:

"We are not Kings and Lords for no reason -" here he turned a stony gaze on Orrin " - we have prepared death lists, rebuilt cities, many times before. Often, my people come to Tronjheim seeking asylum. The Varden lived in Surda for many months; I do not see why this such a problem, my Lords." His bushy eyebrows lifted. "Eragon is only one leader, you know. The World doesn't begin and end with him, does it, knurlheim?"

Eragon smiled a little; the muscles in his face ached because he had not done it for so long. "That's true, Orik. You very wise men will build an Empire, and fight the war with or without me."

"What are you saying now?" Orrin demanded, sweeping his black hair from his face. "That we throw Eragon to the lions?"

"No," said Eragon, baring his teeth; "Leave us to Him."

"Galbatorix?"

Eragon met Orrin's eyes coolly. He was really past caring what the King of Surda thought. "Death. Now, may I leave you in the confidence that you will take care of this camp? Death lists and temporary accommodation is of course our priority, but regular watches must be kept, and wards made."

Orik thumped his fist over his heart. "Go and do what you must, then, Eragon. There will be a new order in Alagaesia when you return."

Eragon smiled, and stood up, making for the tent door. "Thank you, Orik." He reached for the flap, and stopped, looking back at his foster-brother and King. "Will you please … leave Murtagh's body where it is; there are … certain ways to lay a Rider at peace."

"If you wish it, Eragon." Orik coughed, gave Eragon a sympathetic look, and turned around to find Orrin towering over him.

"You can't just let him walk out on us! For the Gods' sake, we need all four of us here, and he cannot go wandering around -"

Eragon curled his lip slightly at Orrin's lack of control, and stepped outside; he could hear Orik placating the King, and was glad he did not have to deal with it.

The day was getting old; the sun was setting, red and bloody in the West. Eragon turned away from the loud command tent, and made his way, back to Arya.

--

"Now, listen," Angela said firmly. "I don't know what spell he used, what effect it has had on her mind, how long it will last, and exactly what is wrong with her. So sit down and be quiet for a moment."

"I am quiet," Eragon protested, holding Arya's hand tight. Angela bumped his head with her wooden spoon surprisingly gently.

"Let me give her this," she said, holding a phial of some clear liquid up. "And then we'll see."

"What is it?" Eragon asked suspiciously. He did not think that Angela would know what was wrong with Arya, no matter how many potions she used; and he wanted to be alone.

"Witch hazel."

"Witch hazel is _not_ to be taken orally," Eragon frowned. Angela shook the phial at him and pulled her bushy brows together.

"The seeds can be," she said slowly and delicately, as if talking to a simpleton. Eragon glared back at her.

"They taste disgusting, Angela."

"I know," she said, waving the spoon and dropping it into a bowl of warm water. "So, if she is still aware of her surrounds, just withdrawn into herself, she should taste and make a noise, or move or something."

Eragon shifted away to give her more space, unconvinced; but witch hazel was not poisonous, just very pungent. Angela leaned over Arya's thin form, and dripped the phials onto her closed lips. She did not move, did not open her mouth as a sleeping person would.

"Oh, well," said Angela, parting Arya's lips gently and tipping a few more drops onto her tongue. "Well, see how this works."

The witch hazel trickled down her throat, and Arya made no reflexive movement of disgust, or even twitch at the taste. Eragon clutched her hand tighter, and could barely feel a pulse.

"Oh," said Angela, leaning back, and sounding much more put out. "Well, that _is_ a problem."

"What is?" asked Eragon, not quite wanting to know the answer. Angela clicked her tongue once or twice.

"Well, its' going to be a job to feed her - she obviously won't have solids."

"What do you mean?" Eragon said, staring in growing horror at Arya's pale, emotionless face. "She won't need feeding, she'll be up and about soon -!"

"Really?" said Angela, frowning; but her expression softened after a moment, and the pat on his cheek was quite gentle. "Don't get your hopes up, Eragon. It could have been a dreamless sleep spell - it could have been designed to render her incapable of waking up; it could have damaged her brain, broken her mind …"

"Don't think I haven't thought of all those," he said hollowly, looking away from her, and back to Arya, unknowing, uncaring of all the worry she was the centre of. "And more."

"Yes …" Angela bent down, and peered seriously into his eyes. "Have you considered, then, that given the extremely slow rate of her breathing and pulse, that it is a spell to slow her heart down more and more over an extended period of time until she simply fades away? I have seen that done, once, long ago in another war …"

"Why didn't he just kill them outright?" asked Eragon, through a tight constriction in his chest. "It would have been easier for … for everyone."

"Maybe it is hard to cast a proper spell when you are wobbling around with only one stirrup," she replied. Eragon looked sharply at her, but she did not seem to be joking. "Lost his concentration, you know; I hardly think it was from mercy."

Eragon did not bother to reply. Angela straightened up, and bustled of to her bag of herbs, and started to shred some sorrel leaves into the hot water in the bowl. Eragon stared at Arya's beautiful, but perfectly still, pale face, and it took a moment before he could speak again.

"Is she going to wake up, Angela?"

Angela's frizzy seemed to freeze as well as her body. "I don't know Eragon. She might just fade away - elves can do that, you know … or she might stay like that for another week, or a year, or forty years … I do not know."

Eragon looked down, blinking away the pricking behind his eyes, trying to control his voice. "Can you keep her alive?"

It sounded so wrong, so cruel, so terrible to be uttering such hard, hopeless words about Arya, beautiful, clever, vibrant Arya, that he could not meet Angela's eyes for fear of her finding him incapable of holding his feelings in check. But she did not seem to care.

"If she continues like this … yes, I can keep her alive. The Gods know how long for, but …" she placed a work-hardened, plump-fingered hand on his shoulder, and bent down to meet his eyes, gaze softer, more solemn than he had ever known. "I will look after her as long it is humanly possible to - and inhumanely, if I can manage it."

Eragon took a deep breath, thinking slowly but steadily, his mind stretching out of the dirty little tent so unworthy of Arya, to Saphira keening, sorrowing at Eridor's side. Their minds connected, and between them flowed unformed words and feelings, impressions of each other's intentions.

_Where do we -_

_How can we -_

_He is here, here again … _whispered the subdued Vault.

_Go home, back -_

_I hatched there, we go home ..._

_Come and catch him, catch him like he caught Vrael …! _whispered the Vault, louder.

_Oh, my Lord Vrael -_

_Poor, lost Itilara, so brave, so clever …_

"… _and from that day, he has ruled us …"_

Snippets of words, phrases from the dead men in the Vault, snatches of Eragon and Saphira's own thoughts mixed in; but slowly, Eragon realised what the voices were whispering about, why they were so agitated; he had gone back, to use them again, to steal and plunder the Souls of those he had no right to …

"Do you swear, Angela," said Eragon, with difficulty speaking, eyes fixed on Arya, "to look after her, for as long as this takes, to do as much in your power to heal her? We … we may not be here when she does - and I want to know that she is in - good hands."

"She will be," Angela promised, briskly but seriously. "And if I must, I swear it. But where are you going, I didn't think you would ever leave -?"

"Never mind that," said Eragon. He pressed Arya's hand close to his face, wishing fervently that she was not as doomed as he was; then with a burst of strength, resolve to do what he must, he stood up, and found he towered over Angela, and the low, dirty white bed Arya was sleeping her death-sleep in.

"If she wakes up, or if we do not return and she wants to know where we went - for the Gods' sake, don't let her know! - please, tell that I … love her … and that I am sorry. We both are; we were weak when we should have looked after her and Eridor." He swallowed the lump in his throat, and wiped angrily away the tears from the corners of his eyes. "We failed her. We fail everybody, in the end."

Angela was silent. She cocked her head on one side, and surveyed him with sharp, birdlike eyes. Eragon sheathed the dagger he had taken out to cut Arya's bracers from her arms, and gathered Daiithil from the tent wall.

"What are you going to say to her, Eragon, if she wakes and finds you have left her?"

"If we don't come back," he replied grimly, fighting back the thoughts of Arya's living face; "then there will be far more worrying things to think about."

He stared down at Arya, her beautiful face perfectly closed, but deathly white; her lips were almost blue, perhaps with loss of blood, perhaps with cold; her eyelids were thin, so that blue veins showed; Eragon knew he had seen dead people laid out in Carvahall, where the funerals were open, looking much like her.

But she was still Arya, their Arya, brave and fierce and proud, and a hundred things Eragon could never describe in an equal amount of years.

He remembered the first time he had seen her, in a dream, her face dirty, but her eyes still bright, still vibrant. It was horrifying - inconceivable - to imagine those eyes closing forever, the green fading; to imagine Eridor's deep laughter, his proud, curving neck crumpling, laid to rest forever …

Eragon clenched his fists; he would not draw this out. He had to leave, they had to go … it was for Arya, and Eridor, and every other man, woman and child involved in the war -

_Come, little one, _Saphira said, her voice richer, somehow, through her grief. _I am ready. I have said my farewells. _

Eragon closed his eyes, then looked, one last time, at Arya. Angela sat expressionless, and only watched as Eragon came forward, and kissed Arya's cold forehead.

And then he turned around, strode away; through the maze of tents, to Saphira; past Eridor's curled form; past his own tent, past the tent where Roran slept, recuperating. He climbed onto the weary Saphira, strapped his legs in, took more power from the Vault.

Then she lifted her wings, and in the blue dusk, she was huge, fierce, strong; but as they soared away from their friends, from their loves, from friend and allies alike, dragon and Rider were weary; weary and miserable and dreading the dawn.

--

Saphira flew on tireless wings through the icy night air; her body was sustained with energy from the Vault of Souls, and her mind set on their destination.

They passed through the Spine, through mountain passes the likes of which Eragon had known well in younger, care-freer days. They passed herds of rough cattle and shaggy sheep, now running wild. And as the pale light in the East started to grow, they passed over a muddy, dirty mess below, comprised of wood and ashes.

Therinsford.

Eragon stared down, finding it easy to see. He remembered Therinsford, a large, untidy town, but when last he saw it, bustling with life and busy people. And to think; Murtagh, under the influence of the Vault, had destroyed the whole town. He could not pretend then, that it did not still disgust him a little; and perhaps frighten him, too, given the nature of the place they were going.

Saphira flew along the ridge of a long, red-stone valley that Eragon remembered. It had been the firs time he had been far outside of his village - the first time he had seen any settlement other than Carvahall.

And there, on the slopes of this valley, was a tower; tall, and black and ancient, Ristvak'Baen loomed over the shingled sides of the canyon; its roof was caving, and it leaned off to one side slightly, the holes looking like wounds in a great beast; the wind ripped at the loose bits of mortar, and the remains of ancient pennants of the roof.

It was the last remainder of ancient days, a proud monument to the Riders of the last Age; built so that only a dragon could access it, a Place of Sorrow as the elves had named it long ago, Ristvak'Baen contained, Eragon knew as certainly as he knew that one would die today, their last and most hated enemy.

There was a crumbling platform on the side; this Saphira alighted on, and Eragon could see the faint, dusty prints of a much larger dragon on the floor.

The entrance yawned, pitch black, and a musty, rotting smell billowed from the darkness. Eragon slipped from Saphira's back, and unsheathed Daiithil. Inside, something moved, and the light shifted on black scales.

Eragon did not want to go; did not think that Galbatorix would adhere to the ancient rules of single combat; but he saw no other way. Eyes sharper than a human's senses, more alert than even Galbatorix could ever be, he crept forward, and Saphira, silent and stealthy, padded behind as he pushed back the rotting doors, and stepped inside Ristvak'Baen.

The massive, circular floor was gleaming in the pale morning light; it was wet with something - water from the moist mountain air, or perhaps something worse; the staircase that led to the Vault of Souls was directly opposite Eragon; and before it stood a tall, dark, black-and-silver man; his black sword was held lazily in one hand.

"Is it not fate that you shall be captured here, where I killed the fool Vrael?" he said, shifting onto his other leg, the voice laconic, and body calm. Eragon said nothing, looking warily around for Shruikan, but finding that he was not in the tower at all. But also there was something else …

"What have you done with their bodies? Don't you know there are certain ways to lay a Rider at rest?"

He knew he spoke insolently, and that he was only angering the King; he did not care.

"My new order of Riders will not adhere to such ridiculous and outdated traditions as those," he sneered, and then his voice became soft, as it had been before. "Surrender, now, and we will lift the curse on your elfish Rider, and her dragon. She will be living again, Eragon, soft and warm and beautiful …"

"What have you done to her?" choked Eragon, fighting back the image of Arya's still, pale face.

"It is a spell that the elves would not teach me … I taught myself, Eragon, much like you, you who have had to struggle by yourself for so long …"

His words were soft as butterfly's wings, sweet as honey; yet they fell on ears as indifferent as the stone of that tower when they reached Eragon. Behind him, Saphira's eyes glinted in malicious defiance that clearly told Galbatorix he would not sway them.

"If that is the best you can offer me - forbidden, dark spells, promises to be broken, a reward of no consequence - well, old man," said Eragon, voice proud and haughty, but icy cold, "you are losing your touch. I expected something more from the man who enslaved my brother."

"Your brother was weak minded!" Galbatorix cried, voice rising bizarrely high; "You are merely stupid!"

Saphira moved quicker than lightning, quicker than a spell; she lifted her head, levelled her gaze at the black King, and shot forth a bout of crackling, roaring fire. It bounced off the wall, somehow bounced off Galbatorix too, and made the wall melt where it had hit.

"It is not worth it!" he cried, and the black sword lifted, the black crystals in its pommel glowing. "You, dragon, will bring about the next generation of Riders, and you will not escape!"

Eragon turned and spat brazenly on the floor between him and Galbatorix. "Come and take us, then," he said contemptuously, and ran forward -

The two swords met in sparks of blue and silver, and Eragon brought Daiithil round, and the black sword blocked him, and each clash sent shivers through the ancient stone, disguising for a second the roar of another, older, male dragon …

_Shruikan! _Saphira hissed, and was gone, up into the morning air, to fight the other dragon, to secure her freedom for herself -

Eragon bared his teeth, and swung again at Galbatorix, again and again and again, round and round, back and forth, using every trick ever taught him by Oromis, by Brom, by Arya, by Vanir -

Galbatorix was strong - yes, but not the raw strength of a human, the real strength that Eragon had; his was sustained by the Vault, that had kept him alive for a hundred years or more; Eragon did not know if that meant he could carry on for longer, but he knew that he himself could.

So he did.

Galbatorix's breath hissed from the black helmet, and Eragon breathed through bared teeth; he did not feel like a person anymore, but a creature made of hate, and fear and steel weapons; above him, Saphira tore, persistently, furiously, at Shruikan.

And all of a sudden, a searing pain shot up his leg, making him stagger, fall; Shruikan had caught Saphira leg, again, and was ripping through the muscles and living flesh; her roar echoed from valley to valley between the mountains.

Galbatorix laughed, a rusty, throaty thing, and stepped forward, lowering his black sword - the rune _Agnavra _- Power - was carved in silver into the hilt - to Eragon's throat, slowly, deadly sharp.

Eragon slipped quickly away, kicking the King's armoured shins, and smashed Daiithil at his thighs; at the same time, Saphira let a stream of burning fire roar full into Shruikan's face, and the King groaned as he felt it too, leaving Eragon free; he threw himself at the moaning man, and knocked him flat down, and brought Daiithil around to slice the throat, anything -

An iron hand came round and grabbed his wrist. "Not so easily, Shadeslayer," Galbatorix hissed. Eragon lay, panting, tense, angry, not exactly tired -

"Do you know where we are?" he said softly, gripping Eragon's wrist harder. "There is a power here, you cannot understand. And while I am here, and this power remains, you cannot defeat me, child."

"Really?" Eragon snarled, and with a sudden, fierce movement, ripped at Galbatorix's helmet, so that he could see his face. It was a long, handsome face, black-haired and proud, but so cruel; and the skin had a deathly pallor to it, pale and thin. Eragon struggled for possession of his hand, and said again:

"Really, you worm? I know the power here; here is the Vault of Souls, and every Soul here has given me there energy by free will. _My father _is here, Galbatorix," his voice shook with emotion. "He has been plotting against you all his life, and even in death, he has brought you to your knees."

"Morzan," the King snarled, spittle landing on Eragon's face, helmet abandoned in the fight; "was only ever a good and faithful servant; he never had the brains to plot against me -"

"My father is not Morzan, idiot," Eragon spat back, adrenalin coursing through is body, enhancing his mind; "Do you remember this sword?" Daiithil glittered, pure, dangerous; "This was my father's … my father's sword, _Freedom_ …"

Galbatorix seemed to freeze; his black eyes darted from Daiithil to Eragon's haughty face, the features that were not quite elven, and the hawk like twist of his eyes. "Brom," he choked, and for the first time, Eragon thought he might gave struck a chord inside the other Rider.

"Yes, that's right. _Brom_." Eragon's eyes flashed with a fierce, deadly anger, and Galbatorix stared. "You killed his Saphira, he killed Morzan, he created the Varden, he has set your downfall about, even from the grave … and you know what?" Eragon said softly, "he lived in my village; he taught me from a very early age; all his knowledge, his wisdom … he taught Saphira and I the Tuatha Du Orothrim … he gave us the word with which we destroyed your city.

"And then, after he died, we were taught by an elf." Eragon smiled mirthlessly. "Oromis of House Thranduilion, and Glaedr his dragon. They alone survived your onslaught at Doru Areaba."

Galbatorix's black eyes darted from Eragon, to his sword, to the walls around them. For the first time, now, he looked caught. Eragon reached carefully for Daiithil, but Shruikan roared, and he leapt up, throwing Eragon backwards against the wall with the help of a wave of black magic -

Eragon hit the wall, and the rock cracked his head; blood seeped down through his hair, and Saphira whimpered a little as she felt it. Through hazy eyes, Eragon saw Galbatorix turn and run, disappearing up the spiral staircase to where the Rock of Kuthian was placed -

He staggered forward, and raised a limp hand to his head, and thought a healing spell; the pain receded and he picked Daiithil up from the floor; there was blood on the hilt, and he wiped it absently off. Then, vision restored, he ran across the dank room, and hurtled up the narrow staircase.

The outer walls of the very top of the citadel were virtually gone' the posts that for thousand of years had held it up were crumbling; yawning gaps through which icy mountain air billowed showed the white-capped heads of the Spine, and the green-and-grey sides were many cubits below the tower.

Galbatorix was standing the centre of the tiny room, sword bared; his left hand was resting on the pedestal on which the Rock of Kuthian stood. His handsome, thin face was filled with a savage, cruel fervour.

"Enough of the games, Eragon," he said quietly, yet his voice seemed to freeze even the air around them. "I can kill you in one instant, with one word -"

"But you won't, will you," Eragon retorted, "because you need _my_ Saphira to continue your Riders. Have you nothing better to do than to utter empty threats?"

"They are not empty," he hissed, face a cold, cruel mask. "I have devised a way - of killing you, but keeping your Saphira, pretty, clever little Saphira alive … then she will begin a new race, a new order - all without you, my young friend …"

"You're lying," Eragon choked out: a block of pure, unadulterated fear sliding into his chest. "It's - it is impossible -"

"Not so," countered Galbatorix. "It was your father -"his lip curled, though it seemed rather faint "- who lived on after his dragon died. And your brother Murtagh, too, survived the slaying of Thorn …"

Eragon's numb could not register that, did not; but his hand shook on Daiithil, imagining Saphira fate, should she be captured -

"I _hate_ you," he snarled, and raising Daiithil threw himself at Galbatorix, their sword meeting, sparking, clashing off one another -

Galbatorix gave a muted roar, and a wave of black magic knocked Eragon off his feet, but, as he went down, he caught at the King's red-stitched hauberk, and two fell together, cursing, swearing, trying to move their swords around to stab the other …

The sun rose higher; it shone on the Rock of Kuthian and Eragon knew, assuredly, that Galbatorix _must not _touch that stone, that it would-be the end of him, and the beginning of Saphira's enslavement …

"Traitor," he snarled, as Galbatorix twisted his arm back and punched him hard with a mailed fist in the stomach. "Filthy, lying traitor -"

And Eragon slid Daiithil across the other man's chest, trying to push it to the neck, but -

Galbatorix dealt him a rock-hard, well-aimed punch, and Eragon went reeling, head snapping backwards; lights flashed before his eyes. Dimly he saw the King jumping to his feet and reaching for the Rock …

"_Garjzla_," he gasped, and blue, electric-blue light blinded Galbatorix momentarily; Eragon threw himself forward and tackled the other man tot ground, pushing a mailed arm under his throat -

"_Malthinae_!" Eragon's arm was frozen, and helpless in heavy air. But of course Eragon was equal to it, and shouted:

"_Letta_!" He was freed, and Galbatorix, somehow, found the black sword Agnavra and brought it flashing down upon Eragon shoulder, but, the Dwarven-made armour did not fail him; the black sword was stuck briefly in the shoulder pads, and Eragon quickly shoved his arm under Galbatorix's sword one, and, hooking his foot behind the King's, pulled it forward, and he went flying, smacking his chin on the stone floor …

Eragon dropped heavily onto his back, to wind him further, and was rewarded with a huff of pain. He yanked out his hunting knife - to slit the man's throat? To what? - when a stream of fire shot through the tower, Shruikan's fire, missing Galbatorix, and making Eragon dive for cover -

Saphira came down, bowled Shruikan away, away fro thee tower, and continued to fight him, while Galbatorix climbed to his feet, picked up his sword, and Eragon wiped his bleeding nose.

The sun was lighting the Stone, making it glitter and glow in the morning light. Eragon saw the black eyes dart to it, and at the same time saw a bead of magic glowing in the man's fingers -

"Letta, jierda vraya nahal!" The magic flew magic was dissipated, and a ripple of Eragon's own magic flew around the room, incapacitating Galbatorix's hands and arms for a second, in which Eragon threw his dagger at him and darted forward with Daiithil lifted -

Finally, at last, it hit him; a the dagger scraped his cheek, deep for human knife, and Galbatorix only just blocked Eragon's ensuing blow. He brought Agnavra's black blade round in a clumsy circle, which Eragon; he swung at the King's feet, forcing him to jump -

Galbatorix staggered, regained balance, and Eragon, breathing heavily, continued the duel …

It was never-ending, impossible; they were so evenly that matched that neither got a touch, neither won or lost; blood was trickling down Eragon's face, and the wound on Galbatorix's head was bleeding freely, but still they fought, on and on -

The King staggered back, and grinned, panting through yellow teeth. "So, is this it, Eragon Shadeslayer? Two immortal men, two mighty dragons, locked together in a never-ending duel, until the stars fall and the sun burns out? Is this it?"

Eragon lowered Daiithil, gasping for breath, but eyes still fixed on his enemy. "No, Galbatorix," he answered, voice deceptively tired. "No, for the lives of many weigh on my mind." He glanced at the nearest hole in the window, and pretended to stumble towards it; Galbatorix watched with sharp eyes.

"There is life away from war, away from you. Life in lands your evil has touched, and life in places your greed has destroyed. There are … living people waiting for me, Galbatorix. I … will not disappoint them."

"Will you not?" the King asked, a sardonic eyebrow raised. He looked pleased.

"No. I know how powerful the Vault of Souls is … my father has told me all …" A wary look crept onto Galbatorix's face. Eragon inched forward, to where the lowing globe of Kuthian stood on its pedestal.

"He told me that it is connected to you, irrevocably …" Eragon's gaze became haughty, proud; "He told me that you are dependant on it."

Their eyes met, and then both the black pair and the brown pair flicked to the glowing Rock. Then Galbatorix knew, and his face dissolved into a picture of terror, fear of Death himself -

"NOOOOO!"

Eragon threw himself forward, and as Galbatorix crashed into his legs, pushed the Rock of Kuthian off its pedestal, and it went spinning, flying, glinting and glowing in the sun, and both pairs of eyes followed it; and it spun out of the tower and seemed to hang, suspended, for a moment, before plunging a hundred thousand cubits to the ground below …

There was a moment of breathless uncertainty, where nothing happened; and then from miles below came a whoosh of energy, and voices whispering, singing their freedom -

Galbatorix screamed, falling, crumpling; a dragon roared, the same dragon whimpered, and a tinkle of broken crystal met Eragon ears, from so far away -

And then he crumpled, too, and white descended into his vision. Mist, thick and white, so solid, surrounded him; he saw the whites of people's eyes; he saw them running away, laughing, singing, then disappearing into thin air.

He knew somehow, that they were dead; or at least, now they were dying, properly. His body and mind seemed to deteriorate; he watched men, women, children, dragons, dwarves, elves, Urgals, and tall shapes he could not identify.

The faded away, and another shape materialised, cloaked, hooded, and hawk-nosed. He lifted a rough hand, and Eragon had the impression he was smiling.

"_Well done, Eragon, my son! All the hopes and dreams I ever dared to entertain, and see how they have culminated!" _

A breeze seemed to pluck at Brom's form, so that he flickered and wavered like a dream half-remembered.

"_I am going on, Eragon, at last! I am going to oblivion, now, at last."_

His robes, his legs, and now his torso were being pulled away, and Brom was dissolved like a sand tower at high tide; Eragon's last impression as of his father flying free, at last, unencumbered, happy; at peace.

His consciousness tugged at him, but he resisted, a moment longer; another man had been blown into shape, thin, shrunken, white-haired, a cowl over his head.

"_Goodbye! The new world beckons us, a new light!" _Kuthian was laughing, raising his old eyes lifted to a light only he could see. _"Goodbye, to all, and the cares of life! We are gone!" _

Kuthian was blown away, like a leaf in the wind, quicker than Brom; his image fluttered away, and the whiteness faded, darkened, became blackness; and Eragon was returned to consciousness.

The Vault of Souls was gone, for ever and eternity.

--

Ahh, but is Galby …? Sorry, but I'm staying with my Grandma for a week this Tuesday, and she des not have internet. Fingers crossed we get back before a whole week is out!


	63. From the Ruins

It's late, I'm grumpy and it's wet. Again. I'm emigrating to the moon.

**Thanks, as usual for all those incredible reviews!**

Chapter Sixty Three.

From the Ruins.

Eragon's eyes flickered open; icy wind was freezing his face, and the sun - noon-time already - burnt into his sight; he was so, so cold; the stone of Ristvak'Baen stole into his very bones, and the atmosphere of the Spine, which never mellowed, made his breath steam.

He rolled, stiff, upright, blinking against the colours that flashes in his vision, and touched something, something cool, but pliable; it was living. With a hurried movement of fright and disgust, Eragon looked around at the pale face by his side.

His skin was fish-white, the hair sweat-dampened, and his eyes - urgh, his eyes! - so black, so deep and pitiless, holes insides holes, were wide open; the irises were almost indistinguishable from the pupils, and they stared, darting fitfully from side to side, round and round.

A sudden wind burst through the top of the tower, though Eragon did not feel it; it did not ruffle his hair, or touch his skin; but, looking down at Galbatorix, he saw something change in the King's face.

His long black hair was turning grey, loosening, and falling like ash to the floor; his skin, which had been flawless, that of a young man's, was wrinkling, turning grey, becoming rough; and then as Eragon inched away, horrified, the skin started to deteriorate.

Once, as a child, Eragon had seen a lamb, dead after lambing season, which the farmer had left out to be devoured by the buzzards; it had horrified him, nine years old at the time, as had the eyes eaten by flies, the skin, red and black, and the wool that had hung in little tendrils off the bare skull.

This was ten times worse. His skin was rotting as Eragon watched, turning purple, black, then falling in little scraps off his head; flesh was receding all over his body, shrinking beneath his armour; the hands twitched and became bony claws; the cartilage of his nose had melted away, and the slanted bone showed; cheeks, forehead and chin were gone, and a blackened, stinking skull leered at Eragon.

But the eyes had not gone. Why had they not gone, with the rest of this horrifying transformation?! Galbatorix's body, rotting, skeletal, _dead _by all rights, twitched; the claws that had been hands curled, and the skull moved, jaw creaking; the black eyes stared, bulging, from dead sockets.

"If this is Death," the skull rattled, as if it were breathing, fingers twitching, wasted arms rising; "then you are coming with me!"

Its blackened fingers reached out, thin body clanking inside the armour, and closed about Eragon's wrist, holding with surprising strength. He cried out, and tried to leap up, terrified, horrified, but the creature that had been Galbatorix was pulled up, feather-light with him, and the crabbed hands reached for his throat -

Flesh fell in slimy strands from the dead fingers; the black, maddened eyes popped as Eragon gasped for breath and struggled to break the hold the monster had of him, because its thumbs were pushing into the very centre of his neck, and stars were erupting behind his eyes -

He staggered backwards, and slammed the thin body against the stone wall as hard as he could; for a moment the frail arms loosed, and the fingers twitched; then came a grinding noise, a moan of rock on rock …

The massive blocks of Ristvak'Baen had slid out of place, ancient as they were; Eragon teetered backwards a little, and the body's feet dangled in the air as four large stones slid, fell back, and dropped a hundred thousand cubits to the mountains below …

Eragon teetered on the brink, pain-clouded eyes seeing clouds below him, and the tops of mountains; the icy winds buffeted him, keeping him from falling over the edge just yet, and still the creature hung on his back -

He, with one last, desperate surge, pried the bones from his neck; a finger snapped off in his hand, and the creature hissed, dead breath rattling in Eragon's ear; finally, with a rush of desperation, Eragon ripped the thing away; and before he could think, had thrown it over the edge.

It screamed, a raw-throated, crabbed, _dead _scream; Agnavra the black sword went spinning in wide circles over the edge; Eragon saw, as if in slow motion, the flailing arms and blackened skull tipped back in a fateful grimace: and then it was gone; disappearing through the clouds. Gone, was the creature that had been Galbatorix; gone, was his body, aged beyond repair from the vast amounts of energy he had stolen from the Vault of Souls.

Eragon leant on the remaining stones in the wall, breathing heavily, eyes closed; he heard a whistling as of a large of object travelling very fast, and opened his eyes once more; a black mass, untidy and ungainly was hurtling to the ground, wings flapping helplessly, eyes wide open but staring. Shruikan, too, was dead, and Eragon shuddered to think of the state the body would be in when it hit the ground.

Saphira came sweeping down as well, and she landed on the huge gap left by the fallen stones; her nose was bleeding, and dried blood laced her scales. Eragon held gratefully to her side, and fell heavily to his knees, feeling the angry red bruises around his neck.

Saphira curled her long neck, pushing it inside the tower, and breathed warmly on Eragon's face, licked his cheek, laid her shaking cheek to his chest.

_Oh, little one, _she said, stopped, and closed her beauty eyes. _Oh, little one … what shall we do? _

_Go! _he gasped, _Go, away from here, for the Gods' sake …!_

Saphira closed her eyes, swaying from side to side. _Are they dead? Really?_

_I hope so, by the time they reach the ground! The … the destruction of the Vault did not kill him … _Eragon remembered the rotting flesh, and withered arms about his neck, the creaking skull, and retched, spitting sour bile over the edge of the tower. _We have to get away from here, Saphira … it is evil now._

The ancient stones creaked, the magic-imbued timbers groaning. The blast of magic of the Vault dying had been too much: the mortar was crumbling, as were the spells holding it up. Wind whistled through the gaps in the walls.

Eragon leant back against the wall with a brunt, almost too tired to move. After all; dying in a falling building would be quick, if not painless; but he staggered upright, holding himself up by Saphira's spikes.

The ground bucked; paving slabs were sliding in and out of place, and holes were appearing, their mortar falling to the other chamber below; Saphira put her nose under Eragon's back and propelled him up into the saddle; slates were falling from the ceiling crashing into splinters on the breaking floor. Saphira, jerking and swaying as the tower swung side to side, inched backwards off the edge, and let herself fall into the clouds.

The wind, icy-cold, whipped his face, biting through his amour and sending his sore, tired muscles into the forestages of cramp; he hung grimly on to the saddle, and lowered his head. His eyes closed, and lights flashed before his eyes, as his muscles seized up and cramped …

Then Saphira stopped short in her descent, for she was nearing the ground; she roared with disgust and horror, and Eragon was jerked, painfully, awake again.

Blood covered the valley floor; bits of bone, lumps of raw, pink flesh; lengths of scaly skin were laid out on the dusty ground, and the insides of a massive creature were spread as if jackals had been at a Fanghur's carcass -

Agnavra the black sword, Power, was stuck, point down, in the dirt; its onyx hilt and black diamonds in the pommel glinted in the rising sun. It gleamed, dead-black, and Eragon looked away.

Then he saw the body, the thing he had been fighting, and the skull lying, stark, on a pile of slates. He turned and retched over Saphira's side, shaking, filled with nothingness; he was incredibly weak without the power of the Vault; he had not known, until it was gone, how much he used it; and seeing these gruesome remains reminded him, exactly, of what he had done that day.

Dathedr was right: he, Eragon, was a monster. All those people he had killed! The family members who had died because of him; the people whose brothers, husbands, sons he had killed, and the city he had destroyed …

_Don't think like that! _Saphira said roughly, still staring, horribly fixed on the remains; _We did what we had to! Come back, and we will be greeted as heroes!_

_Don't want to be a hero - do I, _he replied stupidly, wiping the bile from his mouth. _We want Arya. _

_Yes, _Saphira said distractedly, and tore her gaze away from the blood, and gore. _We go back to Eridor._

But she could not seem to look away from the bloody remains; her tail twitched as if she were hunting as she watched flies walk over the flesh. _It's hard to believe, isn't it? _she said eventually. Eragon closed his eyes, so as not see any more of the dead dragon.

_How much more dead can they be? Saphira, let's just _go_ … _

_Are we going to leave them, like this? _she asked, disregarding him. Eragon took a rattling, weak breath.

_I will not trouble myself with the funeral rites of the Riders for __**them**__. They are not Shurtugal, and never were. _

_What about the sword?_

_Leave it, _Eragon said. _If anyone wants it, they can come and get it. _

Behind them, the rubble of Ristvak'Baen shuddered, and the broken walls slid a little further down the valley; the land on the side of the valley was also sliding, loosening because if the great impact of the tower falling.

_There's going to be a landslip, Saphira, _said Eragon urgently, poking her mind to stir her into action. She twitched as if to move, but still she stared.

_Saphira! _he cried, with as much force as his wrung-out mind could muster. _Saphira, we have to go! They will be buried now, I think._

_Do you think Shruikan wanted to die? _she asked, in a funny voice. _He was not Galbatorix's first dragon, after all. Do you think he was loyal, right to the end?_

_I don't know, _replied Eragon, momentarily stymied. _But … as you said … this war is for the greater good; if Shruikan did not want to be joined with Galbatorix, he has made the ultimate sacrifice. Besides; _Eragon risked another look at the carcasses and felt his stomach churn. _There is no evidence to say he was not filthy, lying evil until the moment he died._

The land was sliding ominously down, trees, turf, boulders and grey earth tumbling in stops and starts down the steep valley-walls. Saphira heaved a great sigh, and closed her eyes for one long moment.

_I suppose not._

_He was not the last of dragon-kind, _said Eragon, staring with glazed eyes at the wall of earth coming down on them.

_No, _Saphira agreed. _Eridor!_

With a great heave, where her aching wings lifted once more, she pulled herself upwards, as rocks and soil and broken trees came rushing down the valley and engulfed the bloody remains, covering the tower of Ristvak'Baen and burying Vrael and Itilara's ancient bones.

The whole world seem to shake, and shudder, as the long valley that had been the road to Therinsford was buried in rubble. Eragon could see oak trees, huge, centuries old, being born on the rubble like a twig in the sea; he saw boulders larger than Saphira's head jerking along, and he felt a thousand tiny creatures scream as their homes were crushed, or buried, or caught up in the tide of nature.

He put his hands to his ears, and bent down over the saddle, feeling every bruise in his body and all the blood that trickled inside his armour. He could taste it in his mouth, and smell it on his face.

Saphira flew on, bearing him away from the broken tower, his old home, the Spine where he had been brought up. The sun rose high in the noon-tide sky, and fell again. Stars appeared; the moon rose; the moon fell; still Saphira flew, with every beat of her wings becoming slower and weaker.

Eragon was suspended between unconsciousness and sleep; his muscles were seizing up in the cold, cramping painfully; his hands were frozen to the saddle and Saphira was blowing great steaming breaths with the effort of simply lifting and lowering her wings.

It was turning into evening when, in the distance, they saw the scarred, bloodied ground of the battlefield, and smelt the funeral fires. Soon the city of tents came into view, and Saphira, clumsy in her exhaustion, dropped like a stone the floor, crashing into many tents and breaking the guy-ropes, so that they sagged.

People came running, shouting in shock, some in greeting, others in mere surprise; Eragon gazed at them through dull eyes, and pulled his dwarven helmet off, feeling as if iron bands were fitted tight about his head; red flashed before his eyes, then black; he saw a young woman fighting her way through the crowd; and then everything turned black.

--

Bright spring light was filtering through the dirty white of the tent; Eragon stared for a moment at it, eyes adjusting to the sudden light, wondering why he was so uncomfortable, and why there were so many loud noises outside.

Reality caught up with him: Galbatorix, Shruikan, the black sword and Saphira came flooding back, and he sat up, creaking, because he was still wearing his hauberk and bracers, and stopped as pain shot through his head.

Someone came to him, and touched his forehead with a surprisingly soft hand. Eragon waved the person away and sat for a moment, composing himself, waiting for the pain to recede; then he looked up, and was confronted by a very familiar, concerned face.

"_Katrina!_?"

The mane of coppery red hair was tossed to one side. His brother's wife's pretty face, pale, freckled skin and white teeth swam into view. She smiled.

"Hello, Eragon. How do you feel?"

"Fine, thank you," he lied easily, without really meaning to. "What are you doing here?" He was too full of pain and surprise to be polite, but he did want to know. Katrina presented him with a bowl of warm water and a towel, and said briskly:

"Roran called for me to come from Teirm. I am organising the refugee camps." Her pretty face clouded over. "There are thousands to house. I wish Nasuada were here."

The mention of Nasuada brought another stab of pain that was not physical. "Does that mean Roran is all right?" he asked quietly, pulling at the laces on his bracers, and not looking at Katrina.

"Yes," she said, equally softly. "Except for his poor hand, but …" her tone was brave. "It will not make him any less of a King."

"Has … Saphira told you, as well?"

"She has spoken to no one, save that cat creature," his sister-by-law replied. "She is with the other dragon. But I presume Galbatorix is dead. They knew you would not return unless he was."

"You are right." Eragon threw the down the bracers, flexing his freed muscles, and chanced a quick look at Katrina. "We did what we said we would. He is dead."

She sat slowly down on the low bed, and covered her mouth with her hands, staring at the other side of the tent. "It is hard to believe," she said eventually. "I … I must tell Orik and Roran." She looked at him, hazel eyes piercing. "It is true what they say - you have very strange powers, to survive a fight to the death with Galbatorix, and to come back unscathed. How did you do it?"

Eragon met her gaze carefully; he liked Katrina, and thought her a true and worthy woman; but she was Roran's wife, and they were humans, and it was not a good idea to tell them the things he had done. He knew about his fellow humans; very quickly indeed they turned.

"Saphira and I trained for a long time to do as we did. And … we are not without injuries."

"Let me see, then," said Katrina, saying nothing more about Galbatorix, though her eyes were sharp. "Where are you hurt?"

"They are only scrapes and bruises, Katrina. We will be fine." He stood up, slowly, so as not to ignite the pain in his head again, and found that all his muscles were hurting. "We have to go."

"Where? And why?" she demanded rather sternly. "There is nothing you have to worry about at the moment, so just lie down and -"

"Is this my tent?" said Eragon, not really listening to her. She looked around at the odd bits of armour, cloth and arrow-heads strewn over the floor, as well as Saphira's bulging saddlebags, and sighed.

"Judging by the mess, it certainly is."

"Good." Eragon limped to the saddlebags, and, rummaging in them, amongst all the screaming protests of his body, and finally pulled out the thing he had been looking for: a small, brown, stoppered flask. He uncorked it, and smelt the contents. He did not think faelnirv could go off, so he took a large swig.

Katrina looked aghast. Eragon stowed it back in the bags, and stood up, feeling much, much better; his head no longer hurt, and his muscles were soothed.

"Eragon, will you please, _rest_ -"

"I've got to and see Arya," he said stubbornly; Katrina frowned a little.

"I was told she was the one the egg hatched for. And the sleeping dragon is the egg?" Eragon nodded tersely, not wanting to answer any questions; but Katrina did not seem to require any answers.

"She is still … sleeping. And I think you should do the same, for a little while at least."

"How can she still be asleep?" asked Eragon, horrified. "We destroyed the Vault!"

"The -?" started Katrina, but Eragon had opened the tent flap, and strode out. He heard Katrina follow at a more leisured, dignified pace.

The camp had changed. it was filled with hollow-eyed refugees, and battered Varden soldiers; dwarves were marching in a and out, and the horses of Orrin's cavalry were whinnying in a poor paddock nearby. It did not look like a victorious army; but at least it was not a defeated one.

Eragon found the white tent, somehow, in the maze of pavilions, and pulled back the door; the mellow light inside was filled with smells of herbs and spices, and the steam of heated water.

But Angela was not there; there was only Arya, laid out on the low white bed, as stiff and pale as when he had left her, still beautiful, but still only barely breathing. Her covers were pulled warm over her, and a fleece throw, produced from goodness knows where, was tucked around her shoulders.

Katrina followed him in, though she said nothing; Eragon moved forward, as if in a terrible, recurring, nightmare, to her bedside. He touched her face, and felt that it was still cold, icy cold. Her skin, so soft and absolutely flawless, beat with only the faintest of pulses. Katrina came up behind Eragon, and said gently:

"Angela and the other Healers tried everything. They could not reach her mind, or determine what was wrong. So now … they are just treating the symptoms."

Eragon looked back at his new sister. "Where is Angela?"

"I do not know. I am sure I can find her, if you want to see her?" Katrina raised an enquiring eyebrow, and Eragon nodded. She strode back out, and he heard her calling a page to send her message. He stared down at Arya's so-familiar but unknowing figure, and found that he had very little left inside him to feel.

Katrina came back; she touched his arm gently. "Orrin, Lord Dathedr, and Orik will be informed you are back; I have sent a boy to find Angela, and another to bring you some food and drink. Is there anything Saphira desires?"

Saphira sent an indistinct thought to say she would hunt when she needed food, but a drink would be useful. Eragon relayed this all dully to Katrina, who once more bustled away; for a second Eragon marvelled at how organised and efficient she was, and how everyone obeyed her immediately.

He sat down on a crate by the bed, and found Arya's hand, buried under the blankets. It was slightly warmer than her face, perhaps because of all the rugs he held it tight, and tried to warm in it in his own hands, which, he saw, had been cleaned of blood and mud.

_Eridor's mind has gone into hibernation, _said Saphira, gently entering his mind. _He is like an egg waiting to hatch. His mind is still there, but … he does not know that _we_ are here. He is in his own world now. _

She was shaking with the suppressed misery of having to watch Eridor sleep, unknowing and uncaring of her affections; Eragon could feel his own hands trembling in Arya's. The ice of Arya's body seemed to be seeping into his.

The tent opened again, and this time it was squat, curly-haired Angela who stumped up to Eragon. She had a funny little grey pipe in her hand. "Well, you're back," she said rather unnecessarily. "I wasn't expecting you back so soon."

_That makes two of us, _said another mind, poking his own consciousness; Solembum was twining himself through Angela's ankles; he stopped, and gave Eragon a long yellow stare. _Have fun?_

_I thought you were with Saphira, _said Eragon, eyeing the were-cat cautiously.

_I was, _he said imperturbably, _but I like to be everywhere, and know everything, you know._

_I do know, _replied Eragon, and broke the connection. It was hard to compete with Solembum's tricky conversation unless one was really on top of one's game; Eragon was not, at that moment.

"I suppose your Katrina has told you?" Angela eyed him beadily, though there was a little of a softer side in her dark eyes.

"That she has not moved? I can see that." Angela gave him a deep scowl for his irreverence.

"Actually, she has moved."

"What!" Eragon had half-leapt up; Angela put a work-hardened hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down.

"It was really more of a spasm, though."

"Angela," Eragon said warningly, "I'm sure I can get this story from someone else, you know."

"And I really have other patients to see, you know," she said, raising her bushy eyebrows challengingly.

"Will you just tell me what happened?" he replied forcefully, and added for good, "_Please._"

"_Please _always helps," she replied smugly, and stuck her squat little pipe triumphantly in her mouth. She saw Eragon holding tight to Arya's hand, and sighed; a puff of green smoke billowed out of the pipe.

"Yesterday. There was a great tremor - and she gasped a bit, opened her mouth; she was breathing deeply for a moment … and there was some mist in here, _loud _mist -" Eragon started at this, because he knew what kind of mist had voices, and Angela peered at him shrewdly. "Loud mist, which I wouldn't suppose had anything to do with _you_?"

"_No_," he said emphatically and unconvincingly. Angela shrugged.

"That was the last time she moved. The mist filtered away, and she went back to her … sleep."

Eragon avoided Angela's gaze, thinking. Yesterday, he had destroyed the Rock of Kuthian. He did not know what had happened when he and Galbatorix had been unconscious - much the same thing would have happened to them; the mist, undoubtedly, were Souls.

If the Vault had gone, then why was she not awake? Why? Eragon put his head in his hands and closed his eyes. Arya slept on, sleeping Death's own.

--

For the first time in a very long time the battle-light had left the sky. The bright star Cebelrai shone in the constellation of the Tiger, and everywhere were stars that the elves had named, and the dragons had flown beneath for aeons; Aiedail the morning star, was five hours from rising yet, and everyone in the massive camp of the Varden was quiet, but for the injured and the sentries.

Eragon sat, having eaten for the first time in days, slumped by Arya's bed, half-asleep, almost dozing. But every time he started to sleep in earnest, screams started in his mind: Galbatorix's final scream; for a moment the raw remains of their bodies would flash in his mind's eye, or the skeletal figure falling over the tower's edge, and he would start awake again, sweating, expecting to see a black assassin approaching him.

It was a cold spring night. Eragon had persuaded Angela to let him perform some heating charms around the bed, but he wished they extended to him; there was a frost falling outside.

A sentry padded by, paused outside Arya's tent - Eragon tensed - and walked on; he could see the man's breath steaming. He felt his eyes closing again, and found it hard to stop them; he fell into a deeper, more peaceful sleep, leant against Arya's bed.

"Eragon?"

There was a lamp lifted to his face, someone peering down at him. Eragon sat up, blinking, so dazed that he did not reach for his hunting knife immediately. But as he did so, the person put a warm hand on his, to stop him drawing the knife.

"Ssh … don't."

The voice echoed through his mind, like a pleasant dream half-remembered. Eragon's eyes adjusted to the sudden light, and found himself face to face with -

"_Nasuada_?!"

"Yes." Her white teeth flashed in the dark, as she smiled a small smile. "I'm sorry I had to wake you, Eragon, but I don't want any of the others to see me."

"You're supposed to be _dead_!" he spluttered, so shocked he almost did not realise what was happening. "You -"

"I know, I know!" she hissed back, and set the glowing oval of bluish light to one side, guiding it with her empty hand. "I know, please, don't tell anyone!"

"But …" Eragon leant forward, taking in her expressive eyes, newly-braided hair and clean face. She was even dressed nicely, in the garb of a lady rather than a warrior. It was too much to take in all at once. "But you're dead! Roran saw your body!"

"Did he?" replied Nasuada, sitting cautiously on another upturned keg. "Well, I must have been unconscious. After our men had all been killed or driven out of Uru'Baen, they found me. Galbatorix sent men to come and find me. He knew I was there … he recognised my magic, my heritage. He tortured me for information."

Eragon stared at her, aghast. She met his gaze proudly. "And Murtagh saved me."

"_WHAT?!"_

"What?" she said, jumping, looking alarmed at his outburst. "Why is it so hard to believe that he had a change of heart?"

"Because he died on the battlefield _three days _ago!"

"He can't have done," she said, shaking her head gently. "He came into the throne room. He pretended to take me for torture, but he never did it, in the end." Her eyes were large. "He tried to save me - he _did_ save me."

"But - I was there when he died - so was Arya, and Eridor and Saphira. He can't possibly have been in that palace yesterday."

"He was," said Nasuada stubbornly. "But Thorn died, and he survived. With Thorn's bonds gone, so were his. And that must be the truth, else I would not be here now."

"Right," said Eragon, sitting forward, and examining her face - which was definitely living, and real and Nasuada - "So how can you be here?"

"I just told you," she said carefully. Eragon opened his mouth, not without a thought to the oddness of the entire situation, but she spoke first. "I apologise, Eragon. That was not a proper answer. Are you wondering why I am here, alive and well, and not in the middle of the rejoicing Varden?"

"Yes, amongst other things!"

"Oh, well … you see, I only regained consciousness after Arya was hit. And …" She looked up, and around, and then back to Eragon; "… Azhborn found me, Hyelda's son. He's brought all his family and the others of his tribe down here. They're waiting for me to tell them what's been happening."

She waited for a moment, to see if he wanted to say anything; but he didn't, so she went on: "They looked after me and … gave me clothes …" she gestured to the light robe and tooled bodice she wore; "I said I would go and see what was happening here, and I did. Only when I arrived here, I found Roran up and about, striding around, giving orders, listening to Dathedr and Orik and the others, and taking charge so easily, so naturally …

"He manages fine without me; I always knew he would. I always knew he was special, the moment he first entered my tent on the Burning Plains. If he has been nominated king, why would he want another leader to come and split up the Varden and the old Empire again? I do not think I will."

"He would want to see you; he would not mind."

"It is not about what he wants, but what the country in general wants. I haven't really endeared myself to the Empire, anyway."

"So," said Eragon, mystified and rather worried, "what are you going to do? You're never going to be anonymous around here, Nasuada."

She gave a small smile. "I know. I'm going to live with Azhborn." She saw Eragon's face and lifted her eyes heavenwards. "And his tribe, and his family. Hyelda told him not to forget, and he didn't. I don't think they'll mind; I can be useful, and I know about horses and buying livestock and archery." She looked a little embarrassment. "I know it is a motley assortment of talents, but I will survive."

"Really?" said Eragon keenly, eyes narrowed. "What are they like, this tribe?"

"Eragon!" she laughed briefly, and quietly. "You needn't be so protective. They are all clever, talented, peaceful … to a point. They are nomads; we won't be in one place long enough for anyone to recognise me."

"You hope," interjected Eragon.

"I hope," she agreed. "But don't concern yourself with me - there are other people who need your attention." Her gaze travelled past him to Arya, motionless, a mound of blankets and rugs. "I am sorry for your loss."

"She's not dead, Nasuada," said Eragon dully. Nasuada gave Eragon a careful, guarded look.

"I do not think she will die. Arya is very strong of mind, as well as of body, and the affliction she has is of the mind. If it is a question of fighting it, I am sure will do so valiantly."

Eragon smiled a small, grim smile. "That is the most hopeful thing anyone has said so far about her condition."

Nasuada shrugged. "I suppose Angela does not want to give you any false hope."

"How do you know that Angela has been seeing to Arya?" asked Eragon sharply. Nasuada looked a little amused.

"I can move around this camp so silently that you'd never notice," she said, smiling. "I've heard everything. If you are trying to keep these things secret, you are doing a very bad job of it."

"Well, perhaps we won't bother from now on," he replied, almost lightly, then sobered. "So you know … everything?"

"About you destroying the city? Arya getting hit, and you killing Galbatorix? I know Roran has lost two fingers, Arya's cousin is queen of the elves, Katrina is here, and that Orik's son is fat and healthy." She turned a bright and enquiring gaze on him, and he nodded.

"Yes, that is everything. I destroyed a whole city, caused Arya to be cursed, and killed Galbatorix." He caught her eye, and knew he looked guilty.

"Don't feel guilty, Eragon," she said imperturbably. "It was for the greater good."

"I know that. And I am tired of the greater good, and do not believe any longer. If Arya survives …" he took a deep breath; " … and Saphira and I are free, we will go away, and leave the Bröddring Kingdom to its troubles. We are tired of politics. They are not worth their troubles."

Nasuada nodded emphatically. "I agree. That is what I am doing; I have a chance to be free - and I am taking it. No more worries of leadership, or repressing my feelings. I will be free; and happy. Promise me, Eragon," she said, looking gravely at him, "that you will do as you say and get away from - them, too? And probably persuade Arya to, as well."

Eragon let this sentence pass without comment, and clasped Nasuada's hand briefly. "I promise. We will."

"Good." She paused, and cocked her head a little; a sentry was clanking past. When he had gone, she said: "I have to go, Eragon."

"Really?"

"Yes." She stood up. "The tribe is moving on tomorrow morning. We don't want any questions."

Eragon rose as well, and Nasuada caught his hand and squeezed it. "When I'm gone - in good time - will you tell Roran and Katrina about this? Orik too? Tell them that I am happy, and hope that they are too."

He smiled gently. "I will. And … if you are ever in trouble, or need help … Saphira and I will be here - or around somewhere - and we will always be ready if you need us."

"Thank you," she replied, voice soft. "But I release you now from being my vassal - I should not need you, and it will be a small millstone around your neck - you are released, Eragon."

"My offer still stands, Nasuada. If ever you need us, you only have to ask."

"I know. Goodbye, I … hope that you will be happy, soon." She reached up and embraced him, quite naturally and easily, and Eragon kissed her cheek as she drew away. "Farewell, Eragon."

"Goodbye," he echoed quietly; she gathered her light cloak about her, and stole out of the tent, quiet as an owl hunting, out into the camp of the people she had led, proud and fierce, to victory. The tent flap dropped behind her, and Eragon saw her lithe form flicker briefly; then she was gone into the night. As he listened, mere seconds later, he heard unshod hooves galloping away to the East.

And he was left alone, with the silent, sad Arya, and many emotions, familiar and unfamiliar, that churned and boiled in his mind.

--

Urgh - do you know that in less than a month, Brisingr is out? I _have_ to finish this first, because I don't want it to go out with a puff because I ended after Brisingr. Honestly. CP held it off for years, couldn't he have held it off another month? No one ever thinks about us poor F.F writers!

I'm very sorry for not replying to all reviews; we went away straight after I put this up. Thanks for reading, as always …!


	64. Differences of Opinions

_Thanks so much for all the reviews! _Enjoy!

Chapter Sixty Four.

Differences of Opinions.

Arya lay in that dirty white tent, day after day, week after week. Her long hair, that Eragon had thought so beautiful in its thickness and softness, was cut off by a grim Angela, who now treated her as a child infected with smallpox. It was brushed and washed, and the newly short strands showed ever more clearly the paleness of her face.

Her skin was fish-belly white, cold, and almost translucent. As the weeks passed, and Angela could only make her swallow the thinnest of broths, her flesh melted away; her skin barely covered her bones, it seemed, and it was possible to count every bone in her arms, and see every blue vein.

She sometimes moved, a reflexive twitching; twice she had spoken quite coherently about "the state of that watchtower" and "putting Urgals in the same barracks as dwarves". Each time, of course, he and Angela had fussed frantically about her, trying to keep her awake; but she had never actually woken up, and soon she was as still as ever.

Eridor, out on the plain, never moved once. His mind had withdrawn within itself, and he was much in the same state as he would have been had been inside his egg still. Nothing Saphira did roused him, and he was not subject to the fits of movement Arya was.

One day, late in the evening, Eragon and Saphira had gone out onto the battle field again, and set fire to Thorn's body. Murtagh was not there, nor was Za'roc, as was the custom of the Riders; Saphira and Eragon stood silently side by side as the mighty frame of Thorn was burnt to gritty ashes on the field.

And then they had returned to Arya, Saphira to Eridor, as always. The acrid smell of burning flesh seemed to follow them; and that night Roran had come to visit. He had stood silent for a long while, and when he had spoken, it was with slow and careful tones. He said that there were people waiting for him and Saphira, who wanted to know about Galbatorix and the Riders.

Eragon had asked what he meant by 'Riders'; and Roran had said …

"They want to know how you plan to keep us all safe without Arya and Eridor …"

At this Eragon had sprung up and said heatedly that he was not a nursemaid, that if they wanted protecting, they must rely on sensible alliances and the strength of their _own_ swords; and Roran had looked long and calculatingly at him, and had gone away …

Everyone seemed to want him to answer; to solve their problems. Only Orik had marched into the tent, clapped a sympathetic hand on Eragon's shoulder, blessed Arya with a few words, and marched off again. For this, Eragon had been unendingly grateful.

When had everyone started looking to him? When Nasuada had 'died'? When he had let it be known that Galbatorix was dead? When Arya was hit, and they knew there was no one else?

Or had they always been counting on him? It had always been him whose approval had been sought in Council, always he and Saphira who had been pushed and pulled by various nobles, Kings, and Clans. They'd worked so hard for the Varden, that they had never noticed - and it was Katrina who had brought the answer, one day, along with a bunch of wild primroses for Arya.

"They're reliant on you, Eragon."

And Nasuada's words came back to him, too:

"Promise me you will _get out_, Eragon."

So, day after day, as he sat by Arya's bedside, Eragon pondered these words. He thought things he had never thought before, and he remembered a promise he had made long ago to Saphira. And he knew, also, that no matter how long peace lasted, there would be a lasting, dangerous imbalance: in Alagaesia, the four races - dwarves, elves, men, and dragons - had always to be in balance. But the dragons were gone. And perhaps, as one last service to their country, Eragon and Saphira could bring back the dragons …

So Eragon, day after day, sat thinking. And in the world around him things, were changing.

--

In the centre of Dras Leona, the slave market was full. On the stand where the slaves were displayed, were ten, perhaps thirteen men; all dressed in rough riding gear, with heavy, sullen faces and reddish skin. They were shackled together in huge chains, bound by feet and hands. There was a large, silent crowd watching a group of liveried soldiers marching up and down.

The soldiers wore the insignia of a hammer over a white Rose. They moved about quietly and methodically, securing the chains and locking the manacles. The silent crowds of Dras Leona watched them. They had never seen soldiers from anyone other than the Varden, and the Empire. These men called themselves King Roran's men, and when they talked amongst themselves, they called him, affectionately, Stronghammer.

There were, watching, a row of pompously-dressed Lords and Squire, who had come today to see what bargains they could pick up in the slave market which was a common thing in that city. And then, as they watched and bid in the proceedings, in came a group of soldiers, proclaiming themselves to be allied to Roran, King of the Bröddring Kingdom, and laying waste to the market.

Freed the slaves had been - a female market, that day - and all the slavers themselves chained up in their victims' place. The citizens of Dras Leona did not know what to make of it all.

The freed women and children were huddled in a corner, being attended to by an army Healer. They stared, wide-eyed, dirty, underfed and frightened, up at their former captors. Then one woman, her dark hair thick with grime, and face muddy-brown, pushed past the Healers. A child of barely six years huddled against her ragged skirts, so thin his eyes were huge in his wasted face. She strode forward, to see better the slavers.

"Whoreson bastards!" And she spat at their feet.

Suddenly, as if she had uttered a call to war, the crowd roared, spitting, jeering, cursing the slavers; many in Dras Leona had had their children never come back from a trip to the baker's, or lost a parent at market day. Many had sold their own children, or infirm family members; and it was these that slunk away at the start of this reform.

The chief of the soldiers climbed high onto the auctioneers' podium, and began reading in ringing tones a bill repealing the laws made in favour of slavery. The crowd cheered.

The revolution had started.

--

Gil'ead courtroom was a dull, cheaply built affair, and, frankly, very little used, at least under Galbatorix's rule, where _habeas corpus _was generally suspended for all criminals. Still, the man sitting in the tall judge's box, tall, strong, canny in politics and war alike, brought the stern but kind justice of all that had been lost under Galbatorix into that courtroom; and his decisions were just.

He looked at the row of forlorn, dirty, rather smelly men in below him, standing in the dock. Their cases had been examined as far as was possible with Empire's limited records. Four men were religious, and had been imprisoned for their beliefs; two were sailors who tried to dodge taxes, and had been imprisoned indefinitely. Another two were accused of treason, and these had been locked up without trial, which, in Jormundr's opinion, proved their innocence easily.

"Conditions of release," he said, looking at the scribe by his side.

"That the defendants remain within this city and return in one month to declare the jobs they have taken as required. Further discussions to be held then," the scribe rattled off; A woman in the balconies above them muffled a sob; she was the wife of the supposed traitor; she had brought her daughters up alone, on a washerwoman's wage. She'd come to see her husband, possibly, freed.

"Very well." Jormundr banged the gravel on its green leather board; it echoed mournfully in the still courtroom. "All defendants, free on said terms of bail."

The ten men sagged, with relief; they bowed, in their various clumsy ways, and Jeod in turn nodded to them. The washerwoman sobbed into her scrap of a handkerchief, and her eldest daughter - who had never seen her father, before that day - put her arms about her, while looking down at the father she had never known.

Out in the city, that the elves, recently, had controlled, the barracks were being filled. There were Imperial soldiers, who were not particularly zealous about remembering Galbatorix, and who had cheerfully sworn themselves to Roran, as Guardian of the Land; there were members of the Varden, who had decided to settle their families there, and who knew nothing else but to be a soldier; and there were young men of the city, who jumped at the chance to be employed.

So the numbers were growing in the new army. In the courtyards of Gil'ead fort, a white rose and an oak tree flew from proud banners that signalled, quite clearly, of the changes wrought in Alagaesia in only one month.

On the banks of Lake Isenstar, that bordered the city, there were many graves; elven, mostly; and the very wind that had blown Thorn's ashes to Eragon's tent, was the same that had scattered Queen Islanzadi's charred remains.

Gil'ead was not yet a happy city; but in time it would become prosperous, ruled by wise men, and clever women, and already there plans for it to become Uru'Baen's replacement, a true home for the King and Queen, when they were crowned, as was expected.

Gil'ead grew; and Gil'ead prospered.

--

Only Teirm, of all the cities of the old Empire, returned to Roran without fuss. He had conquered that city against all odds, and during the time he and Katrina had spent there, they had captured the hearts of the rough, hard-working people who lived there.

So when emissaries and Varden soldiers arrived, to start the new order afresh in Teirm, its leaders stood back without protest. For Teirm, isolated by the Spine, had, alone of all cites, retained the old rights.

_Habeas Corpus_ was a law devoutly adhered to; every man and woman was tried before being sent to prison, and all were given definite sentences. On the docks, boats were charged proper taxes, and safety measures kept; and the curfew, signalled at eight o'clock each night, was religiously kept to, so that no house caught fire.

Under Roran's orders, supervised by Jeod, who was now the Lord of that city, pirates were caught, tried and normally hung; corrupt merchants were investigated and their businesses declared either property of the state, or bankrupt. The taxes were lifted from small merchants, and docking charges for small vessels were considerably large.

Teirm, the city that had never been taken, had, by Roran's hand, fallen. And yet, for all that it was conquered, it was most certainly all the more wholesome for it.

--

The common folk, now refugees, often went to Uru'Baen, joined the soldiers in digging the rubble about, to find survivors; or the bodies. But mostly the refugees were looking for food, or something valuable which they could sell in return for food; there were a very few who still camped by the ruins, waiting for the lost loved ones to appear, dead or alive.

A shout went up from the soldiers. They'd found someone; others rushed forward, and the person was pulled as gently as possible from the rubble. The forlorn refugees waited, sadly, to see if the person was their relative, their son or daughter or mother or father.

The body was carried down to the flat ground, away from the rubble. The soldiers stood still as an old man came forward, and cried for his son, hugging the mangled body to his poor chest. And the others watched as the body and the weeping, shaking man set off towards to the burial ground.

The sun was setting over the ruins; when it got too dark to search any more, the soldiers went back to camp, and the refugees settled back down into their lone, futile wait to find the dead ones.

Some timer the next morning, a soldier found something valuable; a battered, slightly crooked red sword, with pigeon-egg rubies in the hilt. A messenger was called for, and Za'roc was taken back to the camp.

On went the digging.

--

No one, bar Dathedr, had ever heard anything so light and proud, yet strong as the horns that blew on the night of the first new moon of summer. Forty white horses without saddles or bridles, ridden by elves in ceremonial armour, pale armour that shone in the last of the summer sun. The horses tossed their beautiful heads as they walked, and the horse in the centre - a finely-bred, tall and graceful palfrey - held her head highest of all. She knew how important and well-beloved the elf she was carrying was, and she was proud of being chosen to bear her.

Her rider rode with easy grace, her face calm, and to a human or dwarf would seem untroubled; even to her own people, Niduen looked serene in the regalia of Queen. But Bellaen, who knew her so well, could see the way her face changed, her lips pursed from time to time, and the way her hand twisted on the soft rope halter her horse wore.

Why should she not be worried? Fr the first time she would be meeting Dathedr, her war master, as Queen, as well as a dwarf she had met, but who was king; also Roran Stronghammer, a human; and she had corresponded little with humans.

But worst of all, were the tidings that Arya was ill. That she was not dead, but not exactly alive. And Niduen, Healer's daughter, as she was, knew perfectly well of what her messengers spoke. Bellaen shivered as he remembered.

"_She lies still all day, and night, your Majesty!" _the messenger had said, eyes wide. _"Never moves, never speaks except for nonsense. She cannot hear, cannot see, and the human Healers say that her mind has withdrawn within itself."_

"_And what of Eridor, her dragon to whom she is bonded?" _had asked Mira, a Lady who had not gone to war, but remained as Councillor to the Queen.

"_He also is in a similar state. Saphira Bjartskular and Eragon Shadeslayer, they …" _The messenger had become careful. "_They stay with them all day and night. There is no letter from them here."_ And he had produced a bundle of courteous, assuring letters from Dathedr, Orik Konungr, Roran Stronghammer and a woman who called herself Katrina, and whose letter was kind and welcoming.

It was then that the seeds of true fear were planted in Niduen's mind; last night Bellaen had her whispering, as they lay encamped in a fair copse of beech trees near Marna, and saying words in the common tongue as well as the Ancient language.

"_Slytha Andlat_," she had whispered, and sweat had beaded on her brow. Bellaen had watched her for a while, and saw that the words were what she feared; and he wondered the letters from the nobles had said; indeed, Niduen had given them to him to read, but they were still in his saddlebags, for he wished to think his own thoughts. Now he took them from the bags, and opened the parchment envelopes.

"_My dear Niduen, though I must now call you Queen - I cannot say how pleased I was by the decision you and Princess Arya made together. You both can see clearly how best to serve your country …" _

Bellaen tucked Dathedr's away, knowing that it would be kind and courteous, as Dathedr himself was. He picked up the second, a rough letter written in stark dwarven runes.

"_To Niduen, Queen of the Elves, from Orik, King of the Dwarven Kingdom, greetings. I have never met you, your Majesty, but long I have known Arya, your royal cousin. There are many matters to be discussed on the arrival of your delegation, but most, I think, can wait._

"_I write to you, to welcome you in courtesy to the place we have made our new command post; and to say that it will be, no doubt, a great honour to meet and talk with you. Also, recently …" _

King Orik's letter went on to talk about the Urgals and Kull in their camp, and not be alarmed; Bellaen stared at it, a little surprised by its roughness, but also its honesty. He did not remember the dwarves before the Fall as being so; they had been proud and greedy, then, of their wealth. But not so with this King.

Finally, he came to the letter he most eagerly awaited reading, and he saw an oak tree roughly engraved on the broken wax seal.

"_To Queen Niduen, greetings. It is with much regret I must tell you that Lady Arya, many days past, fell subject to a cruel spell of Galbatorix's making. We have been unable to determine the intent of this spell, or indeed if it is directly malignant. _

"_Lady Arya lies in a deep, deep sleep all day and night; on occasion she has risen and spoke nonsense words. But she does not see, hear or taste. Our most accomplished ally, Angela, feeds as bets she can with broth and such herbs as she sees fit. In this way she is kept as safe and nourished as is possible._

"_I know that your Majesty will be greatly worried, and I ask in advance that you make your most senior healer free, for I do not doubt the elves have wisdom hidden from us that may help to cure Lady Arya. _

"_There are many serious matters to be discussed, at some point after your arrival. But I all too well know the woes of an endangered family member, and I am at liberty to suppose your Majesty will wish to see Lady Arya at her earliest convenience. _

"_I remain faithfully an ally, and a friend,_

"_Roran Stronghammer, of the House of Palancar."_

Bellaen folded this letter, thinking, as his horse trotted to catch up with the others. It was a courteous letter, and thoughtful, though written in somewhat wobbly runes. Of course Niduen would want to know about Arya first, and Stronghammer had been perceptive enough to write it to her.

Still thinking, he made to put them back into the saddlebags and talk to Niduen about them later, when one more letter came to his attention. This was smaller, but thicker than the others, and the writing neater, more schooled so as to be much like Dathedr's, though it was written in the runes the humans had adopted from the dwarves.

"_My dear Queen Niduen; forgive me that this letter is hasty, ad somewhat lacking in decorum. The messenger caught me unawares, and this letter is written in haste, though sincerity as well. _

"_My name is Katrina, and I am married to Roran, whose letter has come with mine. We grew up together in our small village in the Spine; it is this village which, in a roundabout way, allows me to write this letter. We came through many hardships to reach the Varden, and it is our great delight to help them now._

"_Lady Nasuada, I fear, is dead, killed cruelly and tragically in Uru'Baen. Roran and I have divided her duties between us, and these keep us very busy. But I say now, honestly and truly, that you will be welcomed gratefully into our humble camp, and that our resources will be yours. _

"_Lord Dathedr has been indispensable to us, and as poor Lady Arya is so cruelly indisposed, he has become also invaluable. I am sure that his worth will only increase with arrival of his Queen, which I understand is a position you have recently acquired. _

"_Our camp is a rough place, and Uru'Baen merely rubble. Yet I find it quite beautiful, for when, in history, have dragons, men, Urgals, elves and dwarves lived and fought together? This I hope you will find agreeable, and you will be able to overlook the crudeness in which we are living. _

"_Hot water will be made available for a wash, for you and your consorts. If it pleases your Majesty, let it be known that the Varden and its allies eagerly await you, and that all will be done to accommodate your company, and to make this disagreeable task a little more agreeable for all concerned. _

"_Yours, in anticipation of friendship and camaraderie, _

"_Katrina, First Lady of the Varden."_

And now Bellaen looked up, to find Niduen looking at him with bright eyes.

"Is it not a kind letter, my love?" she asked, smiling a little. "My father never mentioned to me what open and generous hearts the mortals have."

"It is indeed kind," he replied cautiously. For now, Niduen seemed to have put aside her worry over Arya. "And generous, despite the apparent poorness of their living conditions."

"Yes." A brief frown crossed Niduen's pretty, pale face. "We shall not drain their resources, however. I have sent forward a messenger to ask that they do not need to put themselves out, but thanked them anyway."

"Would that not offend, a little?" asked Bellaen. Niduen smiled a small smile.

"Indeed it might. But I wrote to Lady Katrina; and my hope is that she found my letter as grateful and polite as she may have expected. I do hope to have friendship with her, in any case."

Then Niduen lapsed into silence; and the whole company became silent. What should have been a bright, cheery, triumphant return to the citadel Illirea, no matter how broken, was now a solemn march indeed. The drew ever nearer to the Varden camp, and as they rode, Niduen became graver.

She was wondering if Arya would be alive when they arrived.

--

Niduen leant over her cousin's immobile face, and kissed her brow. Her skin was so cold as to chill Niduen's own flesh, and the way her eyes moved behind their lids was distinctly eerie. Eragon had not seemed to mind - the poor man must be used to it - but he had left when Niduen had arrived, and only evasively answered her questions.

She was of course sure that Eragon loved her; and by the way his eyes were listless, miserable, he was sure that Arya loved him, too; and that she had told him.

The door to that linen tent that Niduen felt was not good enough for her cousin was opened. Dathedr stepped through, and after a long pause said:

"Niduen, they are ready for you now in the main tent. Will you come?"

"Of course, my Lord," she replied, getting briskly up from the floor where she had been kneeling and brushing the dust from her dress. "Where is Lord Bellaen?"

"He awaits you also."

"Ah." Niduen stroked Arya's cold hand one more time, and walked past Dathedr, out into the summer day. He walked with her, gently guiding her to where they wanted to go. It was a large tent, secured with steel pegs and embroidered with the former Lady Nasuada's war banner. Dathedr opened the door for her, and she stepped in.

There were three men, two human and one dwarf. The dwarf was sitting on a wooden bench, sharpening a large axe with a grey whetstone; the two other men were sitting on opposite sides of a wide table, each apparently occupied with their own thoughts. There was a woman sitting next to the man with the shortest hair, and her face was wooden. She looked nervous.

Niduen nodded to Katrina, with whom she had already spoken; to Orrin, king of Surda; and then to Roran, last of all. He was person of great interest to her, and he also was careful around her. He was the sort of man who thought before he spoke, and his voice was deep, as if he used it little.

"Your Majesty," each one murmured. Bellaen came to her, and they sat together at the long table. King Orik put down his axe, and came to join them. All their faces were grave; the dwarf seemed confused; Orrin irritated, and Roran's face was carefully schooled so as to be unreadable. Dathedr was very stiff and proper, and Niduen wondered with some apprehension what they knew that she didn't.

"So," Roran Stronghammer said carefully, "I believe there are those here who wish to discuss the Riders?"

--

"Eragon!"

For the first time in days, something loud made Eragon jump. He leapt to his feet, hand on his knife, as Angela burst her way into the tent.

"Eragon, if you value your dragon's life, you get up and knock some sense into your empty-headed brother! In fact, both brothers!"

Her eyes glittered with anger, and perhaps worry; Solembum was hissing, eyes glowing malevolently, around her ankles. His raggedy fur was on end.

"What are you talking about, Angela?"

"They're all in the command tent - and they are talking dangerous things, Eragon. You have to go now, before they do something utterly _stupid_."

"Angela -"

"Eragon," she said with deadly calm, "do you value the peace you and Saphira have made? Because if you do, you need to go and head off civil war -"

"_What_!?"

"Exactly!" she exclaimed. "Tidy yourself up and _go_!"

Only knowing Angela as well as he did would have made Eragon believe her so absolutely. He quickly donned a clean shirt and breeches, and pulled the buckles tight on his leather boots. He strapped his hunting knife to his forearm, Daiithil to the Belt of Beloth the Wise, and he even tugged at his hair with a comb Angela put into his hand.

"There," she said, looking him up and down. "Much better. If you want to frighten them, make the fire light itself, and make sure you scowl, all right?"

"Angela, what are they doing? Do you mean Roran and Orik -?"

"Orik! Ha! He is ruled by his own Clan chiefs, that one. And what _they_ want, well …" her face darkened. "Just go, and stop it _all_."

"Fine. I'm going." Eragon buckled the leather strap of his dagger tight, and marched out of the tent, hoping that he did not look tired, because Angela's panic was a little infectious. He found the command tent, and stepped in.

Roran was on his feet, back stiff. Katrina was sitting bolt upright next to him, staring across the tent. Trianna was nearby, but Katrina ignored her, and the golden snake on her arm. Orik stood with a group of dwarf Eragon recognised as Clan chiefs; Orrin was sitting his mouth slightly open, staring at the both of them; and he saw Niduen and Bellaen, both wide-eyed but cool and collected. Dathedr was behind them, and his face was twisting with conflicting feelings; the very air seemed bad.

Roran turned to Eragon, and met his eyes. Eragon could not read them, but he understood that some calamity was happening that tent.

"Welcome, Eragon," said his cousin. "I see that you have been … informed of our meeting."

This, Eragon took to mean that Angela had told him, and he saw that the others did not know. He nodded. "I am I wanted here?"

No one spoke. Then a dwarf leaned forward, Freoval, Clan chief of Durgrimst Nagra. "There are … certain things here to be discussed with you present, Shadeslayer."

"Really?" said Eragon, looking coolly about at them. Only a few met his eyes. "Then I must wonder why I was not informed?"

There was more silence. Niduen was staring at him, eyes bright, hands clenching and unclenching. Eventually, Roran spoke.

"The Grimstboriths believe that they have something to say that will interest you and Saphira, Eragon."

Eragon turned a cool stare on the dwarves, and Orik, who was tugging his beard distractedly. "Unless you have something to cure a Death Sleep, sirs, I am not interested in any more political alliances."

"This is not an ordinary alliance. This would cement our victory, firmly, forever. There would be no more tyrants, not one more Galbatorix, ever. Surely that is a worthy cause?"

"How much more dead can the man be?" replied Eragon, rather derisively. "And if you seek to control the future, Freoval, you will only fail, and bring misery in doing so. Besides;" he cocked his head a little to one side. "I have not the faintest idea how you could do so."

"Really, Eragon?" said Roran quietly. "None at all? Even given your status?"

"I still do not know what you all are talking about. You all have some secret here, I know. But if it so important, I demand that you tell me _now_, because I will not wait forever." He looked fiercely around, and now Katrina moved to look back at him.

"When has this land been most at peace, Eragon?" Her voice was distant, faintly disapproving, though of whom, Eragon could not tell. "It was at peace for thousands of years and …" she trailed off, and Orrin stood up; Trianna was holding his arm possessively.

"And all because of the Riders! If we ever want peace again, we need the Riders!"

"What!?" Eragon looked from Roran to Orik, to Niduen and Dathedr. It seemed as if he were living inside one of his own nightmares, and everything normal and everyday had changed into terrifying, colossal monster … "What?"

"What they're saying, Eragon," said Orik, stomping forward, "is that in order to maintain our new kingdoms, we need the Riders." As he spoke her shook his head slightly, eyes wide, to try and tell Eragon that he did not want this. But Eragon barely understood.

"How can you think that?" he asked weakly, voice barely audible. "The riders destroyed this land. They set us up ready to be taken by Galbatorix. To begin them again would -"

"It would guarantee us another thousand years or more of freedom, and peace, and security," Orrin insisted, still on his feet. Trianna gave Eragon a long, dark stare.

"It would, you know, my Lord," she said, lifting a crooked eyebrow. Eragon glanced at her, and thought that it was very likely she had put the idea into Orrin's head. Trianna had always been a loose cannon.

"And then," he said, fighting fear and his temper, "another Galbatorix would arise. This one stronger, more dangerous, more filled with hate and anger. And then thousands more would die; he might never be defeated; this land might be enslaved forever, and it would be all your fault …!"

But he was not the speechmaker Roran was, and the Grimstboriths, Orrin and Trianna remained unimpressed. Eragon stared at them, feeling as if the very walls of the world were falling.

"Don't you care?! Don't you think the price would be too high! The price has _already_ become too high!"

"You must not think," said Dathedr, "that because your lives are short, the suffering of individuals is any less. Many thousands have been killed, tortured and imprisoned because of this war."

"And do not forget that this land, because of the Riders, who were as one with their dragons, dragons have become al but extinct," Niduen said, voice very distinct, cleared than Trianna's, softer than Roran's.

"Let it not be forgotten," Trianna replied, not exactly looking Niduen in the eye, "that this land needs humans, elves, dwarves and dragons to live together in harmony with each other. Alagaesia will not survive without the dragons."

"Then it is folly to think of recreating the Riders!" Katrina said suddenly, forcefully. "By the Gods, have all you Lords and Kings forgotten where arrogance brought us? Almost to our knees, before an all-powerful King! It would be folly to recreate an organisation that became too powerful for this land to hold, and as such almost destroyed us. Folly!"

Orik tugged his beard. All this time had been silent, miserable, and now he said gruffly: "There is truth in what Lady Katrina says. There must be caution."

"Caution indeed," Dathedr replied, hand straying near his sword. "_I_ will not sanction the resurrection of the Riders under any circumstances."

"Ha!" retorted a Clan chief loudly. "You have always backed out of fights you cannot win, elf!"

Niduen turned white with surprise and outrage. Bellaen gripped Dathedr's elbow to stop him looking any more warlike about his sword, and Roran banged on the table. Eragon stood in a kind of awful whirl as the other leaders argued.

"They were too dangerous, too powerful," Dathedr said. Undin growled deep in his throat.

"You elves _created_ the Riders! Fine time to change your tune!"

"We know it was a mistake, now -"

"_You_ tamed the dragons!"

"The dragons," Eragon said flatly and loudly, "were never _tamed_."

"The Riders mean peace!" Orrin insisted. Trianna tossed her dark head.

"The Riders mean security, for us _and_ the race of dragons."

"The race of dragons," Niduen said, speaking almost for the first time; but her voice was clear, and bold and faintly challenging, "is extinct, but for two dragons. These dragons are here in this very camp."

Her words had not the desired effect; the air tautened, and Eragon closed his eyes. He had been hoping, desperately, that this would not happen. There were no more dragons. The hatchlings, Riders and dragons Kuthian had promised him, had died with the Vault. Brom's work in hiding them was for nothing. The race of dragons was almost dead.

Niduen's lips thinned as she looked on the dwarves, and their unhappy king. "How do you propose to approach this issue with Saphira? What will you tell her? Or perhaps, will get someone else to? Saphira Bjartskular, after all, is not a person to be meddled with. You will regret it."

"Is that a threat?" Trianna asked quietly, into the tension-filled air. Eragon stepped forward, eyes narrowed.

"It is a fact. If any of you harass Saphira, disturb Eridor or Arya, then we will take them, and go, and you will have to sort out your own problems." He knew his face was pale, but he only half-successfully managed to suppress all his anger. "Leave Saphira alone."

"She will not be disturbed," said Roran gravely, meeting Eragon's eyes. "I swear."

"She is the last female," said Freoval stubbornly. "She will be the mother of her breed."

Eragon snarled, and the fire pit in the centre of the tent flared with roaring blue and red flames. "She is not an animal, nor a broodmare, dwarf. Would you use such terms about one of _your_ women?"

"Do not forget the helm you bear, Eragon," Orik said quietly, and Eragon took it to be a warning that he, technically, was also a dwarf. "Freoval makes a point."

"What point?" said Niduen, icily. "I find Eragon's far more interesting."

"Riders or not, the race of dragons will not survive without Saphira … and Eridor."

Katrina leapt to her feet; Roran, caught her wrist, but his own face was undulating with varied emotions. Orik looked wary, and Dathedr, Bellaen and Niduen all looked taller and more ethereal in their outrage. But Eragon seemed to become taller, stronger; magic flicked in his hands, crackled at his fingertips as he twitched towards his sword. He did not speak, so great was his anger; but now the mortals quailed from him, even Roran; and the elves were wooden-faced.

"Explain yourself," he said, voice low. The dwarf gritted his teeth in nervous excitement.

"We need … dragons and those … two … are the only ones l - left … Shadeslayer …"

"You cannot breed dragons!" Bellaen said, as the magical fire roared. "They are not _horses_!"

"They are not to be subject to forced arrangements, Freoval!" Eragon burst out. "Would you arrange a marriage for your daughter? Would you chain her to a life she did not want, wilfully?" He stopped, knowing that dwarves often had their betrothed chosen for them, and that a woman only became Grimstcarvloss - Arrangers of the House - or Healers, and an unmarried woman was deemed almost useless.

He took a deep breath. "You all here have husbands, or wives; you have not been forced into marrying each other. You love each other." He gritted his teeth briefly. "A dragon does not have inferior feelings to those with two legs, and two arms. A dragon loves and lives more intensely than any of us ever will do - and a dragon cannot be forced into mating, when the pair are not in love; these are things you would not do to your own families, yet you expect my dragon to do so, simply because she does not have the same faces as you, or does not show her feelings as you do.

"You will condemning Alagaesia if you insist on pursuing this venture of yours. You will be going against ancient forces, ancient instincts, those that have made this land and keep it here. Try to force my dragon, and you will force my hand. Be prepared for that."

He eyed each and every one, and found that very few could meet his eyes. Orik did not even try. But the dwarves seemed to think they had safety in numbers, and yet another chief, said, "We can start the Riders, without your blessing, Shadeslayer."

Dathedr stepped forward, hand on sword. Orik coughed in surprise. Katrina looked around with huge eyes. Eragon stared.

"You need dragons for the Riders, Grimstborith."

"No," Trianna said slowly. "You need dragon _eggs_ for the Riders."

"And what does that mean?" Eragon fixed her with a cold glare, and she held it for a while, before dropping her gaze, as if playing at being the demure Queen she would one day be.

"You know there are no other dragon eggs Galbatorix saved, Freoval," Orik muttered. "Careful, sir."

"If your dragon produces eggs," Undin said, and Eragon hissed; "then may they then be converted into the Riders' eggs? Surely, that is a fair compromise. _If_ Saphira lays eggs, the Riders will be able to return."

"_No!_" Eragon cried. "The Riders cannot return, and Saphira will not allow her eggs to be put under their spells!"

"Then _we_ will put them under the right spells!" said Orrin heatedly, banging his fist on the table. Roran's eyes were darting from speaker to speaker. Eragon's lip curled back in disgust.

"You would not dare, you little -"

"Peace and security, _Rider_!"

"My Saphira will not be touched! Nor shall any offspring she may have, nor shall any eggs in this land become property of any new Riders. Dragons cannot be _farmed_, and the Riders _cannot_ return!"

"I agree with Eragon here," Roran said in a low voice. "The Riders caused too much damage. No one should have to fight an unnatural war such as we have again."

"The dwarves," Freoval said before Orik could speak, "want the Riders!"

"Surda needs security; we are small," Orrin said, standing, scowling. Trianna nodded at his side.

"My father was killed for this war," Katrina said icily, throwing back her long copper hair. "I will not sanction a move that will start another."

All eyes turned to the three elves, so dignified. Niduen lifted her chin, eyes glinting, proud. "It has long been known in Ellesmera that the Riders' return would be impossible. We all wish they had never fallen; but it is folly to try and build them again. Especially as Saphira Bjartskular wants no part in this arrangement, and nor does her Rider. We honour the dragons above the Riders, as we always have."

"Her Majesty's army," Dathedr added, face a cold mask, "is ready to second this movement."

There was uproar; Roran banged on the table for quiet, and the dwarves stamped their feet. But at the sound of the army, the three great armies that were assembled in that very camp, Eragon had gone cold. They were arguing, such as he had never seen before among grown adults. And it was dangerous, mad arguing.

They would hurt Saphira, force her to give up her eggs; they would not ignore her wishes; they were dangerous, too. Orik did not agree with his Clan Chiefs, but he had to keep them happy. Katrina, Roran, and Queen Niduen were supporting him, right reasons or not. Orrin's mind was inflamed by Trianna; and he had always been unreasonable.

It seemed as if a great sword had smote the newly-repaired world into two again. And now Angela's words came back, as if on the balmy summer wind.

"_A civil war!"_

_--_

Habeas Corpus is a law made by John Lackland in the Magna Carter, but the Kings ignored it until James the first of England brought it back. Don't know why, he was a selfish person, but it most certainly is the best law ever made.

And civil war is a very easy thing to happen, and it was Russia attacking Georgia like it has that made me realise that; I never lived through the Cold War, but my parents, of course, did. And I can only imagine how miserable it is.


	65. Lost Souls

Urgh, I've been so busy - was the first person to ride a young horse on Monday, got my old job back (£16 on Fridays) which will soon include sheep-care, 'cos I can toss sheep now. And milk them. Decidedly weird thing to do, by the way.

Chapter Sixty Five.

Lost Souls.

Eragon leant against a thin tent pole, breathing heavily, eyes closed. Perhaps, if he kept them closed long enough, the nightmare would go away_._

_Nightmare. _

That what this was; a cruel, sadistic nightmare that someone had concocted for him. And for Saphira! And imagine the storm of people who would descend on Arya and Eridor, when they woke … _if_ they woke …

At the thought of Arya, Eragon straightened up, and carried on to the tent, where he hoped Angela would still be. He could see in his mind's eye Roran's stiff, controlled face, Orrin's bad-tempered, sallow frown, and the bright-eyed, angry Niduen; and Orik, under pressure from the Clan chiefs.

Angela was chopping artichokes with a vengeance and a very sharp knife when he returned; a glance at Arya showed that she had not moved an inch.

"Well?" Angela asked, sticking the knife deep into the wooden chopping board, and eyeing him fiercely. "Well?"

"They want the Riders back," Eragon said dully, unstrapping Daiithil from the Belt of Beloth the Wise. "And they think that when Saphira lays eggs, she'll donate them a few, so they can start the order that killed her species up again."

"Ha!" She gave a loud snort that would have woken the dead, but not Arya. "I hope you gave them a piece of your mind …" she saw Eragon frowning, sad face, and sighed. "You didn't, did you?"

"Shouting doesn't work on them," he replied sharply. "They aren't cowards, whatever else they may be."

"Magic would work," she said pertly. Eragon undid the strap around his arm that held his hunting knife in place and threw it down next to his saddlebags, with a bitter laugh.

"_I'm_ not going to tell them I can use magic: the Riders kept it secret, and for good reason. Everyone thought Galbatorix was a magician."

"So are you."

"I am not," he said vehemently, "and magic is not a tool of persuasion."

"It could be."

"Angela!" Eragon sat down on a crate, and glared at her. "You are not helping; if you want to help, feel free, but I will not be interrogated."

"Fine." She came and sat down on the edge of Arya's bed, and gently covered her more entirely with the fleeces. Eragon watched dully. He still felt somewhat detached from the current events; and from everyone else. "The Riders can never come back, and not without you. So, don't help them. Tell them you won't sanction it."

"I have; I did. But Orrin, his wife-to-be and the Clan Chiefs all want them riders back; which is surprising, but … they are selfish. They think that a thousand years of peace will make it worth another tyrant … another Galbatorix rising …"

"What b -!" Angela started; Eragon shushed her quickly as a guard paced past the tent. "What nonsense," she said. "Is anyone that stupid?"

"Orrin's country is small; he thinks having a part in the Riders would secure his kingdom and kingship. The Clan Chiefs now want to be as prosperous now as they were during the Riders' era."

"Hrothgar adopted you into his Clan," Angela said, sounding aghast. "Orik wouldn't do that to you and Saphira!"

"It's not Orik," Eragon replied, rubbing his face, tired. "It's the Clan Chiefs; and he has to listen to them, and support to them extent, because they all control his kingdom. He doesn't want a clan war … they've been peaceful for hundreds of years."

"Oh, so let's have civil war instead," she said sarcastically. "How like a dwarf!"

"It's not Orik's fault, Angela," Eragon said quietly. "I understand why he must not protest aloud."

"Sometimes you are too understanding. What are you going to do, Eragon?"

He took a deep breath, and leant his head in his hands. He wished, more than ever before, that Arya and Eridor were there, to help him, to advise, so that there were four of them, not just two.

"I'll hold them off; I'll say it needs to be thought, I'll say I will think about it, I won't let them know we disapprove … then when Arya wakes up … or dies;" his eyes stung; "we'll go away, far away, make sure no one can find us to talk to us."

"That won't work; this is a large land, but two dragons would be obvious; and it would be dangerous. Imagine if they found you after a decade or so, and realised that you weren't going to help them, so they decided to take what they wanted? It would happen; you know politics as well as I do, Eragon. It's too dangerous."

"What do you suggest I do?" he replied, despair threatening to engulf him as he imagined a life lived in fear of those who only wanted to use Saphira. "We cannot live under Roran's protection - firstly because he must be seen onto the throne; secondly because that would truly incite civil war and that _must not happen. _We worked too hard for this peace to let it be thrown away by a few mortals' greed."

"Mortals!" Angela leapt up, and smacked her thigh violently. "Well, why don't you go and live with the elves? They won't mind. They love you."

"Because at some point I will want to do more in my life than waste away in Ellesmera. I was raised to be a farmer," he said quietly, thinking of those long-gone but hard days where he had risen and slept with the sun; he had never fully appreciated how lucky he had been to have been brought up by Garrow and Marian, as their son. "Farmers work all day long; elves strive for nothing. We could not live there for long."

"Well, there's nothing else," Angela said, folding her arms. "Nowhere in Alagaesia will hide two dragons and their Riders." She frowned. "Especially not the dung."

"Yes, thank you," muttered Eragon. "But I can't compromise; I can't get away from them. There _is_ nothing I can do."

"Pretend to die and run away to World's End and the horrors therein if you must, Eragon, but don't let them bring back the Riders; whatever you do, don't."

Eragon stared at her, unseeing, for a moment, then stood up. "I'll see you later," he said vaguely, touching Arya's face tenderly; Angela picked up her knife again, scowling, and Eragon quietly left to go to Saphira.

She was sitting quietly, front legs crossed, like an old farm-dog at the end of a working day; Eragon came and stood by her head, looking at Eridor, curled motionless where the wains had moved him to. He had not wasted away, like Arya. A month to a dragon was nothing; but Arya's flesh had melted from her bones, her muscles only being sustained because of the magic that was so deeply imbued in the elves' bodies.

_Come, little one, _Saphira said, standing, stretching. Eragon knew what she meant; so he climbed onto her back without the saddle, and she took off.

He was glad to feel the wind on his face again, to see the ground dropping away beneath them. It did not diminish their troubles, but it allayed them; they would survive; they always survived.

Through the blackened valley of Uru'Baen they flew, over factories, workhouses, prisons, barracks for the old Imperial soldiers. They passed over the massive ruins of the old city, and the funeral pyres around it; through the acrid smoke, and out, into the fairer, greener land beyond.

Here, there were many rivers, and it was here that Saphira had been coming to catch wild rabbits and other creatures; she no longer ate farm animals, as they belonged to farmers of the new order now, and not Galbatorix's men; besides, she and Eragon were not outlaws any longer; they could not steal.

She landed by a deep curve in a river, where the water was hidden by bright, green beeches, and Eragon slid off her back; he stripped off quickly, and waded in, because it was not the sort of place where diving was advisable.

The water was cool, but clean, though he did not drink it. It was so strange to feel the sun through the branches of the trees, and to smell the hay they were making on the farm - how well he remembered that! - and the smell of warm, drying earth, and to know it was summer.

He remembered last summer, vaguely: Brom had been alive - hadn't it been summer when Brom was killed and he and Murtagh travelled across the Hardarac with Arya strapped to Saphira's belly? No, it had been Spring.

He remembered when, as a farmer, his life had been governed by the seasons. And so embroiled in war and politics and thievery had he become that he'd not noticed the season passing, or been haymaking with his family, or driven the sheep into the village to be sold, or harvested potatoes, squash and the carrots from the garden.

He rubbed his hair vigorously, as if he could feel the dirt washing away, but was half-lost in memories. Carvahall had been constrictive, because Eragon, naturally curious, had always wanted to see the world; yet now it seemed an ideal world, peaceful but with hard work necessary; involving animals, plants that he loved and knew how to grow; people he understood completely.

He didn't understand anyone any more; only Saphira, and, in a way, Arya. Elves and dwarves and even the humans; their mind were incomprehensible to him; he was no longer a human, not an elf; a strange dwarf indeed!

What a strange life, he reflected, wiping river water from his face, and looking over a at Saphira, who was blowing small jets of flame onto the water in a pensive sort of way. Well, he thought, with a rush of affection, what did he want a typical, slow life for? He had Saphira, and they had each other; that, any day, was better than being a good, docile part of the Empire.

On the other hand, it was now a strange, hard, life for both of them; and now it was harder; even cruel.

_What shall we do if they never wake? _he asked Saphira eventually. She sighed a great, heaving sigh.

_We'll cross that bridge when we come to it._

_I think we are already halfway across it, though. _he replied seriously. _I cannot hold Orrin, the Clan chiefs, and the rest of the land off forever. _

_If only we were impartial; then we could be ambassadors; but we are the centre of it all. _

_We need Arya, _agreed Eragon gloomily. Saphira dipped her head.

_We need a solution; quickly. If the matter goes to the various courts, and if the other Lords find out, they will split Alagaesia in two. There will be Clan wars, the elves will be siding with one human or another, Roran may never be crowned … Surda's army, by the way, is still here; Orrin is not powerless, either. _

_This is ridiculous. We shouldn't have to help them any more - they are grown men - and women. The soldiers can just up and go home; and yet we cannot, we, the greatest soldiers of them all -!_

_Where would we go, anyway? Nowhere would have us; nowhere would hide us. We will just have to weather the storm._

_It will be worse for you, _said Eragon slowly. _They believe that all they need is dragon eggs: your eggs. So even if they do not try to force you to have eggs, they will petition for them when - if - you become pregnant. _

_They will not have them, my children!_ she burst out, growling; smoke roiled from her nostrils. _And __**if**__ is the correct word. If, if, if … It may well be, Eragon, that I never see another living dragon again; if Eridor dies … or he never recovers … there will be no one else. Ever._

_Then you love him._

_Yes. But I do not know if he feels the same way … he is young, younger than me. _

_Then all the longer you will have together. _

_Yes, given half the chance,_ she returned sourly.

_Half a chance is better than none. A little hope is better than none._

_It is bleak for us whichever way we turn, _she replied curtly. _It is unthinkable to collaborate with bringing the Riders back; it is impossible to side with one side or another; yet … it is impossible to avoid the confrontation that will happen._

_I know. _Eragon thought of fighting in another war, with Daiithil, again; he thought of more killing, more poor camps, more orphans and widows-and-widowers, more lost children, more dead parents; he imagined refugee camps, and all the things that came with war, and for the first time in his life, blanched away from a fight.

He did not think he could lift Daiithil again; he did not think he could snuff out a man's life again. Even in this quiet, secluded spot, the idea of doing so made his stomach churn. Too easily, he remembered Galbatorix's wasted body, mad eyes, his stinking breath … his crushed remains.

To relieve himself of these memories, he dove back under the water, and stayed there as long as his lungs would permit. It was a greenish, murky world, with little bits of river-weed floating past him, and tiny bits of sediment his movements had stirred. It was much warmer, here in the south, than the mountain-country he had been born and raised in.

It was a nicer, calmer world under the water; briefly Eragon thought of that elf Naidu he had met at the Agaeti Blodrhen, who had altered herself so that she could live for long intervals under the water. Definitely a different world.

With this phrase echoing in his mind, Eragon came gasping to the surface; and almost without noticing he said aloud: "If this is all there is to this world, I do not think it is very fulfilling."

Saphira turned a slanting eye on him. _Then it is the same for me. All the wonder has gone. It has dried up; along with common sense. _

Common sense, Eragon reflected quietly, had never really stood a chance.

This thought flitted through his mind, though he did not say it, and Saphira flicked her tongue in bitterness. _Had we the chance, I would leave this country as quickly as we fought for it._

_What, to go to Ellesmera? _he asked, a little absently.

_No, _she said, snaking her tail through the stony beach. _I mean, Alagaesia. We could fly over the ocean, the seven seas, right to World's End, or the Place of Judgement you humans go on about; or to where the elves came from, be that magical land still exist … or to where the humans first came from. Or we could never land, and go on and on, until we find where the moon disappears over the horizon; or we could go on till we reach the stars; we could find 'where the moon goes' … we would have no one to stop us._

Eragon regarded her curiously, then laughed, albeit slightly tightly. He was a daring sort of person, but not a daring explorer, any more than Saphira was a poet.

_That must be the most fanciful flight you have ever taken, Saphira, _he said, wading out and squeezing the water from his hair. _Are you in a mood to talk about 'shoes -- and ships -- sealing wax; and cabbages and Kings'? _he quoted a little teasingly as he pulled his tunic back over his head.

'_And why the sea is boiling hot -- and whether pigs have wings', _she finished thoughtfully. _Well, you know, I think I am. One must consider all one's options._

_That is not one of our options, _he replied, smiling, but not really happy. _Come, then, let us go back._

Saphira lay a little longer as he shook the last of the water of his hair, her thoughts occupied by something, and when he clambered onto her back, she only reluctantly moved. Eragon did not quite notice, and would not have understood had he done so, and their flight back to the camp was leisurely at best; an observer would not have seen the troubles that moved beneath the surface of Eragon's unreadable face.

--

Eragon sat by Arya's bed, and moved a fair-sized about in the air, in mindless patterns, and wondered at how different he felt without the Vault of Souls in his mind. There was meat roasting on the refugees' fires, and the summer air was very hot; it was in vain Eragon wished for the cool, shady city of Ellesmera. Even more in vain did he wish for Arya to be there, too, alive and well.

Sometimes it slipped his mind that she was not, yet, passed on into the void.

He had, days ago, informed Roran of Nasuada living; and that she was withdrawing in favour of him. This had made Roran very grave; it seemed he had suddenly realised he was going to be a very, very important man in a very short time.

Eragon sighed; beside him, Arya was perfectly motionless - eerily so. She had not moved an inch for weeks; soon Midsummer's' Day would be coming, and she would have been sleeping for two months. He could only imagine this time next year, on Midsummer's Day, and he would still be sitting by her silent bedside.

She was deathly pale; white as paper; her lips were tinged bluish purple, and her cropped hair was brittle. Her collarbones stuck painfully from beneath her skin, and her cheeks were hollowing, curving inwards. Eragon had seen healthier corpses; the bile rose at this thought.

She was still beautiful; more beautiful than Katrina, than the dark Trianna; than Niduen, than any Lady in any court in any land. Perhaps another person would have entered and thought her an eerie and miserable spectre; but in Eragon's adoring eyes, she was beautiful, as always. He could see her old spirit that was only hidden now, and loved her more forcefully, more painfully than ever.

He sat, and, releasing the stone, touched her forehead; it was icy; yet when he drew it away, he was aware of a slight moisture; leaning forward, faintly alarmed, he saw tiny beads of sweat on her forehead, and on her cold cheeks.

He sat still, not sure what it meant, and unsure of whether to summon Angela or not. Then slowly he became aware that he, also, was sweating lightly; the air inside the little tent was very close; stuffy; almost expectant. It felt like a thunderstorm.

How could she be so cold, yet perspiring? He had been trained well enough in the healing arts, but he was not Angela. He did not know. He slowly started to stand to get a basin of water and a cloth, but a wave of some foul air seemed to wash over him; he paused, head on one side, wondering hw he knew it, why this airless tent suddenly seemed familiar in an odd - sinister - way.

He knew the prickling at the back of his neck - knew the sickened churning in his stomach.

_Impossible!_ he thought, struggling o his feet. _No, they're gone! Gone - forever -_

But he stopped, abruptly, and stared down at Arya. Now she moved. She whispered and frowned and her blue lips framed soundless words. Eragon dropped heavily to her side, not knowing what to do, ignoring the foul air that was gathering.

And her eyes flew open - green, they were, yes, but not emerald, not bright and clever and sharp; they were a dark, dirty green, and as he watched, horrified, entranced, they changed to black, onyx black, to brightest yellow, to ugliest brown.

Her proud, beautiful face was contorting; her lips spoke strange words, her forehead wrinkled, convulsed; her hands beat into hard fists, and clenched upon the covers; Eragon reached over, pergolas tot restrain, to comfort her, but as he did so, her expression was so terrible, so harsh, so different from the true Arya that he froze; for a moment, Galbatorix's wizened skull and staring eyes swam before his mind. He pulled his hands back.

At the same time, a dragon roared in anger, fear, terror, hate. Roared sharp and fierce.

But as this died away, and shouts of fear were heard, the lights in Arya's eyes died away; the evil humour lingered behind, and now Eragon saw lights flashing past his own eyes - lights with faces, bodies, arms with grasping hands - lights of those that were dead, but had not passed; lights of Souls that had become Lost.

Another dragon cried, but this was a cry of loss and sadness and frantic worry: Saphira thought Eridor was dying.

Arya's eyes had closed again; her body was slumped as it had not been before; like a person whose death-throes have left the body boneless; Eragon shook her, touched her face, called her name, and she was silent; the bad air was diluting, fading away; the lights had gone, the Souls moved on …

"Arya - Arya, come, please - stay here - come back -"

The sun came, red in its sunset, and shone through the tent cloth, casting a bloody light on Arya's limp face, tingeing her white skin orange; it was warm on Eragon's neck, and unwillingly he glanced back, feeling someone watching him; he turned back and as he did so, Arya's eyes flew open, wide open: and they were green, and living and pure.

He stared; her wide eyes stared, almost unseeing, at him; and then she took a great gasping breath, her breast rising and falling; and she sat bolt upright, her head seeming too large on her thin neck. She stared at Eragon, looking inexplicably frightened, lips shaking; and he could not move, and she could not move: and then with a great gasp she seemed finally to see him, remember him, and her eyes filled with tears, of fear and fright.

Her cold hands came up to cover her eyes, and then Eragon knew she back, and she knew him; so naturally she fell into his arms and naturally he held her; and now his tears flowed, too,; the salty water from each face pressed onto the other; and they held each other so close, so longingly tight as to never let go.

Outside, two dragons keened and cried, and their voices were raised in delight and fright and love. Two dragons again; lost Souls, no more.

--

A bowl of thick broth was sitting untouched by the fire in Eragon's tent; Arya had not been able to eat it, nor had she drunk much; she would not touch faelnirv or wine, and she looked more ill when confronted with food than when she was continuing her hunger strike.

Eragon's tent was larger, more airy, cleaner because he had not used it very much at all; but a smoke hole at the top allowed him to build a fire, and now he and Arya sat, with blankets and fleece throws and woollen rugs piled about them, because Arya only slowly was warming; her skin was still cool, and her fingers in Eragon's hand were only gradually warming.

Her short hair - she hadn't really noticed it yet - tickled his neck, the soft curls resting on his cheek. Her lips were turning back to red, and her cheeks becoming flushed by the heat of the fire; but when he turned to look at her, sitting leaning as much against him as he was to her, her eyes were vacant; unhappy.

She only muttered, only spoke quietly. She didn't meet his eyes often, but when she did, it was, it seemed to Eragon, to reassure herself that he was still there; he suspected that Eridor was in much the same position as his Rider. Disbelief? Fright? But he did not have the heart to question either of them, not at this glorious, glorious time.

Little shivers racked her body, and Eragon tightened his arm about her. She looked up, for a moment, and then down, and said in a hoarse voice: "What month is it?"

It took Eragon a moment to work this out; he was not particularly bothered at all. "The sixth moon-turn. It will be Midsummer's Day in a sennight and one fortnight."

"That is two months," she said, disbelief creeping into her voice. "It is summer!"

"Yes. They are haymaking outside this valley." Even as he said it, it sounded odd. But Arya did not seem to think so; she sighed, thin chest rising and falling.

"Will you tell me what is happening, please?"

"Oh," he said cautiously, unsure of how much to tell her, and decided she could as always manage the truth. "Well, Niduen is here, with Bellaen and forty other elves and horses. She came to talk with the other leaders, but she is very worried about you. Perhaps she will know by now."

"No; we'd better tell her; it would be cruel not to do so in person."

"I will, if you like."

"All right," she said, sounding unconcerned, and Eragon marvelled at how she trusted him. "What else?"

"Roran is expected to become King;" he paused, and did not mention the trouble they were having with the others. "Katrina as his Queen. He has appointed Jormundr Governor of Gil'ead. Jeod is Duke of Teirm - there is a Council doing his will in Dras Leona. They are reintroducing the old laws, and they are abolishing the slavery business. Doing … everything they should be."

"You do not sound happy," she remarked. Eragon paused a breathless second.

"We have been worried of late … it is nothing now. Orik and his Clan Chiefs are still here," he hurried on, "and Orrin is still about, too, with Trianna."

"Oh, that one," said Arya, and sniffed.

"It is very different away from here now. The world is different."

"I suppose so," she said, sounding distant, uneasy. "What do we … _do_ … now? There's nothing left to fight. No more Empire, no more injustice …" she didn't exactly sound happy yet. "It is hard to believe."

Eragon agreed silently, but he could not bring himself to admit the recent events to Arya now, not now. "It is not so bad."

"No." She smiled for a the first time. "No, I suppose freedom is not all bad." And Eragon's heart ached because he would have to tell her; ruin her long-sought-for peace …

"Well," she said, shifting her head on his shoulder. "What have you been doing, in peacetime?"

"Oh … very little … nothing." He did not mention how they had done nothing but sit with her and Eridor, and argue with the sovereigns of various states. "And we did not enjoy peace without you."

She blanched, and was silent for a long minute. The fire cracked and popped, and Eragon stared into the depths of it, wishing he could forget the unpleasant things on the horizon, and simply enjoy Arya awakening, coming back.

"What spell did he catch me with?" she asked eventually, quiet but harsh.

"We don't know … that is why it was so worrying. Being as it was - _him_ - it could have been something terrible - cruel, and torturous …" he looked down at her cropped, curly head and shook himself a little. "But never mind. You are here now, you are back."

Her body shook with small tremors. "It was torture," she whispered, voice hoarse. "It was torture of the worst kind - it was awful."

"Wh - what do you mean?" he replied quickly, an icy hand clutching his heart. "You were not in pain - were you? You barely moved -?"

"The Vault of Souls - was in my mind. Tens of men and women and children." Her hand gripped his tight, but her voice was steady. "They were all ones he had killed, personally. I had to watch each and every one die. _Every single one._" Now her voice wobbled, but she did not cry. "Many were slaves - female slaves; and these he only played with, then killed. Some were the Varden's spies; I watched him torture them, personally. Many were people he killed simply for trying to save their families … I saw him kill a man, his wife, their baby daughter …"

Eragon listened, as if he had no breath to breathe.

"I think the spell was made to torture me; I was only let go because … they'd all died. And I - they wouldn't let me go - and I wished you would come back - I wished I could find Eridor - but I couldn't - and they all … _died_ …!"

Her lips trembled, but she did not cry. She clenched her jaw tightly, and her whole body was stiff as a board. Eragon's hand crushed hers.

"We were terrified. We didn't think you'd wake up. We … we didn't know what to do, we had no idea you were in such trouble -"

"It doesn't matter," she replied, patting his hand with her cool one. "You weren't to know."

"It matters to me," he whispered, into her curly head. "It does."

She smiled sadly, turned her head to lay easier on his chest, and stared at the fire; it was glowing all the more brightly because the sun was falling behind the city of tents; it was late.

"What happened … after we were hit?" she asked eventually. Eragon closed his eyes.

"He fled. To Ristvak'Baen, by Therinsford. We followed him, and fought them."

So very few words to describe what had been a long and nightmarish time; Arya knew this, but, as he had not pressed her, she did not press him. "You killed him," she said. He nodded, though she could not see it, just feel his shoulders move.

"Yes." And with it came the familiar churning of his stomach. Arya twitched.

"I am sick of killing. I am tired of fighting, and killing and fighting battle after battle." She sighed. "I do not think I could lift Enëlya again."

"I know. I know, we feel the same. War, and death and fighting are all we have known since … for _years_. Since Garrow was killed. That was _years_ ago."

"It's over now," she reminded him gently. Eragon closed his eyes.

"It will never be over."

"What?" She sat up, thin arms and thin face turned to look at him. "Do you know something I do not?"

He considered being serious, of telling her the whole truth, but said instead: "Oh, many, many things. I know lots of things you don't."

Her lips twitched. "Saphira told me you were like this, a long time ago." She leaned back against him, and seemed happier. "How silly of me to think you were sensible."

"Yes, very silly," he agreed, and for the first in months, he smiled, a smile only Arya could make him smile. "You should listen to Saphira."

"I do," she protested quietly. When Eragon said nothing, she looked back up at him, and must have seen his face had fallen into heavy, serious lines. Her eyes sharpened.

"What is it? Why are you so solemn? What is wrong"

Eragon stared down at her, and could not bear to tell her; desperately he wanted to, to share the burden he and Saphira had been bearing alone, but he could not. Not now, not while looking into her thin face and bright eyes. Not now.

"No," he said, mustering a slight smile. "Nothing is wrong. Nothing at all."

--

The Grey Folk had always been nomads, since their Spell of Creation had blown up their world. Now they travelled, all across Alagaesia, trading the magical wares they made as they went. Often, they were shunned and disliked, yet people still crowded to them for their fortune-telling, their wisdom, and their wares.

They all had weapons; some, like Naidel, Nasuada's mother's sword, were ancient. Others were newer, but all were fashioned in exotic ways, and all were deadly. They had quick, light wagons, and horses, some heavy draught horses, others quick, light sand-horses, who were used to the hot climate of the outskirts of the Hardarac Desert.

It was on a high-spirited bay that Nasuada rode that day; she had a little, dark-skinned child on the saddle before her, and a large basket slung around her back: the child was a distant relative of Azhborn's, whose mother was pregnant with another.

She was riding by a wagon painted silver-blue, with long pennants flying from the corners. This was Azhborn's; and, him being an unmarried man, she did not share it with him, but instead slept in a long wagon with the child's mother and sisters.

A few birds called overhead, and a lizard slithered quickly away from the caravan; but otherwise all was silent but for the conversation of the others who either walked or rode by the wagons. The Grey Folk spoke the Ancient Language, but it was a peculiar sort; not the elves' version, but the first version, that had been used before the elves had come. With very few speaking in the Common Tongue, Nasuada had quickly picked it up.

"Are you all right, Firéa? Not sore?"

The girl shook her head beneath the cloth that covered her face. All the children - though there were few - had almost been born on horseback, though the Grey Folk did not use saddles, as such.

"I am thirsty, Nasuada," Firéa replied. Understanding her well enough, Nasuada pulled her drinking flask off her horse's saddlebags and handed it to the child, who drank it very eagerly.

"Better?"

"Yes, much." The girl leaned back against Nasuada's chest and sighed. "When will we make camp?"

"I do not know … Your mother mentioned Bullridge. I think we will stop near there."

"Does it have a river?" she asked wistfully: Firéa had been born in the Hardarac, and spent much of her life travelling through it and the villages near its borders.

"Oh, I expect so," Nasuada replied, smiling. "There will be plenty of trees to cool off under, anyway."

"Ah … good. But what about food? And what time is it? Where is Ira?"

"Firéa, do you ever tire of questions?" asked Nasuada, smiling and shaking her head at the same time. "I have some griddle-cakes in my pack, it is two hours past midday, I think, and Ira has run off after Kiyés." Ira was Firéa's family's beloved dog, considered quite a talented animal.

"Kiyés is always stealing her," Firéa sighed. Kiyés was the only boy near Firéa's age, and he was a constant thorn in her side, especially as Ira adored him. Nasuada thought the three of them amusing; but she never said so. "Kiyés should not have a horse, anyway. He is too young."

"He is on foot today, my dear," replied Nasuada soothingly. "And it is good for Ira to have exercise - she will become fat with all your titbits."

"Ira is not fat!" Firéa retorted, and shrieked as Nasuada stuck her fingers under her robe and tickled her. Nasuada grinned back and stuck a pink tongue out to the girl.

"Oi!" Azhborn came clopping up on his black gelding. "Are you murdering her, Nasuada? They would have heard that racket in Teirm."

She waved an imperious hand at Azhborn, because she had been used to doing so in the Varden, and grinned. "Don't be so serious, Azhborn. We cannot sit still on a horse all day without entertainment."

"You," he said with a grunt, "are spoilt." He clopped on past, and Nasuada said after him:

"You are grumpy!"

It was now a standard thing, acknowledged by the entire group, that Azhborn and she truly rubbed each other up the wrong way; spoilt and hasty were Azhborn's favourite adjectives; Nasuada favoured 'grumpy' most of all.

And yet she was sure, that if he did leave her alone, she would be really quite lonely. She was glad Hyelda had told him to remember her, and she was glad that Azhborn had. Not that she would ever tell him so.

Kiyés the boy came running up in tattered cloth shoes, Ira the dog bounding around him in excited circles. Firéa immediately starting harassing him for running off with _her_ dog, and Kiyés retorted quickly, so that Nasuada found it hard to understand him. Eventually both retired into sulky silence, and Kiyés walked on Nasuada's other side. He'd only come to see if she was going to embark on one of her war stories; otherwise, the boy would have not dared Firéa's wrath.

Nasuada looked ahead at Azhborn's broad back, and thought absently that there were indeed similarities; she could just imagine Firéa as her, and Kiyés as Azhborn, trading insults at odd moments: strange.

As if sensing her eyes on him, Azhborn turned back. Nasuada's gaze fluttered a little from him, suddenly, before she returned his disgruntled glance with interest.

Now, that was strange.

--

Hunting rabbits was not really inspiring, and it took a lot of them to make a good meal, but it was all Saphira and Eridor had now, but for the odd squirrel or two. Now they sat, balanced on the ridge of a small hill, watching the river Eragon had bathed in just the other day as it glowed blue in the sun.

_It is beautiful here, _Eridor said after a while. _I never thought the Empire could be so beautiful. _

_Well, _said Saphira, amused, _you have seen very little of the world. _

_Perhaps. But I have also known many people; and I have watched and observed them, and it the people who rule this world. So in that sense, I know the world _

_I suppose so, _Saphira agreed. _But now, in peace, you shall see _all_ the world._

_And will you come to see it with me? _Saphira stiffened, and looked sideways at him through narrow eyes.

_There are few corners of Alagaesia I do not know, _she said lightly. _We can explore them together. _

_Good. I am glad. And our Riders shall come along, too, I suppose, _he replied, smiling in a reptilian way. _By then, they will be inseparable. _

_They almost always have been, _Saphira said, _but you greatly speeded up the process, by hatching. _

_Oh, I am glad I can be of some use, _he replied dryly. _But are not the processes of mating very strange among the elves and humans? They go on and on, and can ever see what is in their faces. _

_Arya and Eragon are hardly typical, _Saphira said, stiff again, feeling some new tension in the air. _Hardly at all. _

_Dragons' ways are simpler, are they not? _

_Yes, _Saphira said awkwardly. _Yes - definitely. _

_It is a pity there are not more of us any more - I did not learn the old ways from a true dragon from before the Fall, as you did._

_No, _said Saphira, _but I learnt from the best teacher it was possible to have; and you learnt from me. _

_I rather thought, _he said, smiling in his mind, _that you were the best teacher I could possibly have._

_Flattery will get you nowhere, hatchling, _she replied, laughing. Smoke curled from her nostrils. _I will never, never compare to Glaedr. Fie on those who dare to do so._

_Then fie on me, _Eridor said solemnly. _I could not have had a better teacher - and you have done more than Glaedr did. _

Saphira growled and snapped, not playfully, at his side. Fire flickered from her nose. _Now, youngling, you speak of one you never met, will never know: you do not know his greatness, his wisdom. You must bite your tongue._

_I am not a youngling, _he replied, rather hotly. _I am not._

_Then you are very unwise. Glaedr was far more than you know. He meant more to me … than you know. Apologise._

Eridor looked at her, eyes very bright, head and neck very stiff. He was proud, greatly so, and for all she thought he was unwise, she knew why he had spoken. So he did not apologise, did not unbend his pride that much. Saphira snorted.

_I am not going to fly off and leave you to sulk. I will wait here till kingdom come for an apology._

_Then wait. I have my reasons. _

Saphira hissed in outrage, and excitement. _I don't understand you. I ask very little, only the retraction of your unjust words. We have had disagreements before - you were never so stubborn. _

Eridor lowered his head, a condescending gesture, for him. _It seems I am as liable to fall under the sin of certain things as two-legged mortals are, _he said with mocking smile.

_What … things? _asked Saphira, suspiciously, bright eyes narrowed.

_The green-headed monster, _he said, voice heavy with self-mocking. _Jealousy, envy …_

_Envy?_ she repeated incredulously. _You - jealous - of … _Glaedr_?_

_Yes. I suppose so._

_Why?_

_Because, _he said in a rush, suddenly much less composed, _you talk about him - far more than me: because I know you miss him, that you cared - _care_ - for him, so much …!_

_Glaedr was proud, _she said quickly. _He was majestic and handsome, and clever; canny, and kind to those inferior to him - to me. I had never admired one person so much, never wanted to be trusted by someone much, never known what it was to hang on a person's every word. For a while, he was almost the centre of my world. _

She sighed. _But __I was young. Younger than you, Eridor. And then he died and I was … so miserable, so alone, but for Eragon. The last of my race was gone. I felt … like I was floundering in a sea of my own incompetence. _She took a deep, sighing breath.

_I was right, _Eridor said, a hard edge to his voice, which only Arya would have known as unsteady. _I was._

_About what? _

_I _do_ apologise,_ he said, shuffling his wings in agitation. _I apologise, but you never showed any signs - I never knew._

_Knew - what? _

_That you love him - that you were his mate._

_Oh - oh, Eridor, no! I never was - never! I loved him, yes, but as a mentor, a friend; a father, more like. Once, I thought that was what I wanted; but I soon found it to be wrong. I was happier as his friend and his pupil. I loved him, but - _her heart was beating, fast and quick. _I was not his mate._

Eridor was very still, very silent. His eyes were half-closed; his tail flicked. Saphira turned her gaze away, and listened to the _thump-thump-thump _of her own heart. _Why, _she said after a moment, _did that … did it …_

_Did it bother me so much, when I should have accepted it and let it lie? _he finished for her, and his own voice was slightly strangled.

_Yes, _Saphira said hesitantly. _That is what I meant. _

Eridor was quiet, his eyes cast downward, his heart beating quick as hers, had he known it; below them in the green valley, an eagle soared, glinting golden in the sun.

_It bothered me to think you loved him, _he said softly, but boldly, gathering his courage, _because I love you. And I wanted you to be my mate. _

The eagle cried as the sun rose high and Saphira did not - could not - speak.

_--_

Arya walked up and down, up and down, gazing from the blackened ruins of Uru'Baen to the city of tents and wood smoke behind her. It was here that Niduen found her, and her cousin wordlessly came to stand by her side.

"Eragon said you would be here."

"Niduen." Arya turned and stared at her cousin, and Niduen was saddened to see the hollowed cheeks and pale skin. "Niduen, I am sorry I did not come to you straight away, but I -"

"Oh!" Without preamble, Niduen wrapped her arms around Arya and held her very tight close. "Silly girl! Don't apologise! I just - I'm glad you are all right -"

Arya, for almost the first time in her adult life, clung back to her cousin, her hand twisting in the soft material of her dress. The two elves stood for a long time, on the edge of the camp, clutching each other fiercely. Eventually, Niduen sniffed, and pulled back a little.

"You look - awful. You had better come back with us, to Ellesmera - you will get stronger sooner there - at home, with us …"

"Oh, I can't - there is work to be done -"

"Silly girl" Her cousin exclaimed again. "Anything that needs doing, you can leave it to Eragon. _You_ are ill, _you_ need to rest."

"I rested for two months; if I don't do something, I may become insane."

Niduen squeezed her arm gently. "Don't be silly. Come home with us, away from all this danger, and fuss. Don't you want to?"

"Galbatorix is dead. Where is the danger? What fuss?"

Niduen's pretty face became wary. "How many people have you met, Arya?"

"Eragon," she said; then after a pause. "And Saphira."

"Did he say nothing to you?"

"We talked about many things," said Arya stubbornly. "Niduen, what is wrong with you?"

"Nothing," said Niduen after a long moment's silence. "But I think we should go and talk to Eragon."

Arya scowled. "I am not a child. Explain to me."

"No, I really think we should go and find Eragon, or Saphira. I won't be the one to tell you."

"Tell me what?!" Arya burst out; but Niduen grabbed her arm and started off back to the camp. "Niduen?!"

"Arya, please, come on -!"

Arya coloured at being addressed so like a child, and she stopped dead. "Are you going to tell me?"

"Eragon will."

"Fine! I will go myself." Arya started off, to run instead of be dragged, but Niduen grabbed her again.

"You'll hurt yourself - you're not strong enough!"

Arya pressed her hands to her face in frustration. "If I break an ankle, will someone carry me back? It would be quicker -"

"Don't get all grumpy," admonished Niduen, not loosening her hold on Arya's bony arm. "I'm looking out for you. Now, let's go."

Arya marched and Niduen walked back into the camp, Arya feeling more like a misbehaving little girl again than ever before. How did Niduen have that effect on her? It was astonishing.

Eridor was sitting with Saphira, both of them looking much fatter than she; they'd been out hunting, and Arya knew that Eridor had devoured burrows full of rabbits and small creatures: they weren't allowed to hunt farm animals any more.

_What is it? _he asked, bending down to her. Arya gestured to her arm held in Niduen's iron grip and showed him what her cousin had been saying.

_I think Eragon _does_ know something we do not_, she told him. He flicked his pink tongue from his mouth.

_Then, so does Saphira. And she has been slightly odd today - I have not asked her. _

Arya glanced as she was pulled past Saphira, and saw the older dragon was not lying comfortably down, but sitting bolt upright, her tail swishing in the scabbed grass. Her sapphire eyes followed Arya, until Niduen had dragged her by another tent; then Eridor turned to Saphira and began asking cautious, probing questions.

Eragon was sitting on his bedroll, legs crossed trader-fashion, sewing a patch of leather onto the side of Saphira's saddle, where a hole gaped, burnt at the edges: a spell, no doubt, had done it. He looked up as they came in, more concerned than anything.

"What is it?"

"I appreciate your concern for my cousin, Eragon," Niduen started, eyeing him, "but there is no reason to hide things from her."

"I have not hidden anything from Arya. I was coming to find you, now," he said, looking directly at her, and then at Niduen. "But this is between the Riders."

"It may well be, but I would appreciate the truth, my Lord."

"It shall be given," he replied steadily. Niduen eyed him sharply.

"Mind you do keep it between the Riders - _you_ know what is at stake."

"Niduen," he said slowly, disregarding this, "Shouldn't you have guards? Haven't you got wards?"

"I am Queen, not a prisoner," she said coolly. "And I am not helpless."

_You need guards, _Arya said to Niduen, touching her cousin's mind. _Even Angela has a guard._

_I do not know who Angela is, _Niduen replied. _But I am going anyway. Be careful; take care of yourself. _

_Against what? _Arya asked slowly. Niduen made a quick flick of dismissal in her mind.

_Everything. _She turned to Eragon. "Good day, Eragon. You are welcome in our camp, and we will always be ready to meet with you and Saphira."

Eragon dipped his head briefly, and put away the saddle and the sharp, thick needle. "Thank you."

Niduen glanced at Arya, eyes guarded, and then lifted the flap to go; she was gone quickly and quietly with a grace Arya would never understand. Eragon waited until she had gone, then looked up at Arya, who frowned down at him.

"I know you are hiding something. Saphira is, too."

"Yes, we are." He flexed his cramped fingers, and Arya sat down on his sleeping roll in surprise. "We did not want to lie to you, but we could not bear to tell you - these things - on the very day you woke, when you'd finally come back …" he paused and stared at the black leather marks on his hand, seemingly lost in thought. Arya clicked her tongue impatiently.

"And everyone knows it, don't they? Only we do not. Now know I why they look at me so strangely."

"There could be many reasons for that," he replied quietly, then shook his head briskly. "No, you are right. The common people are labouring under a very dangerous illusion - but Roran, Orik, Katrina, Orrin, Trianna, Dathedr, Bellaen - everyone who was in that tent, they know."

"Know what?" Arya said, deadly calm.

"They know what the Grimstboriths want, thick-headed as they are." Arya hissed slightly.

"Watch what you say. You are an honorary member of that Clan, do not forget."

"I am no longer as caring of that post," he retorted, then glanced at her. "I apologise. I … forget …"

"You and Orik were thick as thieves before the battle," she said calmly, "and the Clan chiefs adored you."

"They still do, unfortunately." He met Arya's eyes and held their bright gaze. "They think that I - we - can protect them. They think that if I were on their side, they would have their wealth before the Fall returned to them, that I would keep the peace and their borders. Saphira and I will not do that - we are not servants to anybody. So they now have found another solution."

An ugly look passed over his face. "They want the Riders, to keep the peace - and us to control them."

A breath of quick, hasty air passed through Arya's lungs and it hissed in the silent tent. "Impossible!" she breathed; vaguely, Eragon could feel Saphira and Eridor stirring themselves.

"No: they think it is possible. They think we can simply conjure eggs - and make them hatch - and build a city for the new Riders to live on, and write laws and keep together an organisation which could destroy this world - again!"

_Pigs! _Arya said to the approaching Eridor, whose answering rumble was felt all over the camp. But her attention remained fixed on Eragon. He looked as angry as her.

"That is what they want; the Grimstboriths - but not Orik. He has to listen to them, or risk their allegiance. But they will not hear reason."

"The Clan chiefs, maybe, but the others won't stand for it! Roran, Orrin, Niduen - surely they know what is at stake!"

"Apparently not. Orrin has had little words whispered in his ear, from Trianna, no less - and he is a king, he has an army, and castles ready to withstand siege, with generals in place to command them. He must not be provoked."

"My people will not have it," Arya said, coldly proud. "Never. We are sensible. We will oppose this movement."

"Exactly!" Eragon exclaimed, leaning forward, eyes intense. "Roran knows it cannot happen, too, so therefore Niduen will put her army behind him - it will be Surda and the dwarves fighting the elves and Roran. Civil war!"

"No," Arya said, voice strangled. "No, surely not, never -"

"And not only that," he continued as if he could not stop, "but the common people - the humans, all over this land, think the Riders will come back, yet some do not want them. So the peasants will side in this war, also -"

"And there will be a new Varden, a new King to be usurped," Arya finished, her skin becoming pale again, though her cheeks had been pink from the wind before. "New civil war."

"Yes. And we will have to choose our sides - though really there is no choice. We cannot side with Orrin, to have Saphira forced in giving up her eggs." Eragon had had this conversation with Saphira; the idea of her having eggs did not surprise him any more. But Arya's cheek s coloured and she stared at him.

"What did you say?"

"I said - we cannot let Saphira be forced into giving her eggs up - Oh," he said, pausing. "Eridor."

"Yes, Eridor!" she hissed back, closing Eridor off from her mind as he and Saphira made their dignified way to Eragon's tent. "You cannot go around talking about _eggs_ -!"

"I do not," he insisted. "I only forgot we had not talked about it before."

"Unless Saphira can produce eggs herself, I think there should be no more of this talk!" Arya replied hotly. "Eridor, he -" she stopped. "He - does not -"

"What?" Eragon said, eyes shrewd. "He does not care for her?" Now he, too, blocked his mind from his dragon.

"Don't be difficult!" she retorted. "He does care for her - but these are their feelings, their hearts, and we should not intervene!"

"I don't want to," said Eragon awkwardly, "I won't, but there is me and you -" their eyes met and caught, and their cheeks reddened, "and there is Eridor and Saphira. And we are so very close, but also we are separate - we are different races - we do things differently."

"I know that," Arya said, strangely breathless, with excitement or fear she could not say. Very well, then, I will say to you that Eridor, he does … he lo -"

Arya stopped, and broke off abruptly, apprehension on her face as Eridor stuck his head through the tent flap. Eragon also looked guilty.

_Why did you block me? _he asked mildly. Arya, who would never lie to him, murmured:

_Let me tell you later. _

_If you wish it. _His head was withdrawn, and Saphira's entered.

_Welcome to the beginnings of civil war, _she said to Arya, and then to Eragon, with much sarcasm, _Please, do not stop discussing my feelings. _

_I have said nothing._

_Then tell Arya not to discuss Eridor's! We know our own minds, not like you both, who spent the best part of a year dancing around each other - _

Eragon blinked, surprised by the ferocity of this attack. Beneath her irritation, hidden by sarcasm, was another powerful emotion, and with a jolt, Eragon recognised it as embarrassment. She was embarrassed.

_We say nothing detrimental, _he said quietly to her. _We are talking about the facts, nothing more and nothing less. _

_Spare me! _she scoffed. _When you and Arya are together, you distort the facts beyond all hope!_

_Hush, Saphira, _he said gently. _You have no cause to be embarrassed. I will not block you. _

_I am not embarrassed! _Even though their mental link, her voice was high. Arya was watching, and Eridor now - ripping the tent as he did so - pushed his head in next to hers. He said something to the other dragon, and she turned and looked at him; the both withdrew their heads, and Arya and Eragon were alone.

"How … how much have you talked with Saphira - about her, and the Riders?"

"They can never happen," he said instantly. "We will not condone any actions to that cause, and should she carry eggs, they will never be given over to the dwarves or anyone else."

_Oh, very well! _said Saphira sticking her head though the flap and baring her long, sharp teeth._ Very well, if you must know then I certainly hope to carry eggs. And what is more, I will!_

Eragon stood up, mouth slightly open, filled with Saphira's own boiling mixture of emotions. "What?"

_Yes, she will, _Eridor agreed. Arya's mouth fell open.

"What?"

He chuckled, a sound like rocks grinding together. Saphira's agitated thoughts were flashing from Arya to Eragon, so that they both felt slightly dizzy.

_Dragons do not beat around the bush like you two did; our courtship processes are much more straightforward, _Eridor said staidly. Eragon stared.

"Courtship?"

_We know what we want, and we are to the point. _Eragon and Arya could hear Saphira's voice lightening, a sort of voice Arya knew, because she was, after all, female, and her cousin was as deeply in love as it was possible to be.

_Saphira and I, _Eridor said slowly, his own voice brimming with a deep, abiding, admiring love, _wanted to be mates. So, we are mates._

Arya stared at Eragon, breath coming short; a smile was spreading over his face, and Arya found herself grinning back, eyes wide. It was so wonderful, yet Eridor had thought it so impossible, so unreachable; then she coloured, because she remembered Eragon, and his early feelings for her, and wondered now how he felt; but he had darted outside to tease and congratulate and tease again his dragon.

Her large, sapphire eyes sparkled. Of course, Arya had known Saphira since she was a few months old; and though they had had some happy times, most were dull, or dangerous, and now to see her so bright and happy, so much softer than she had been in war was delightful; Arya knew she was smiling.

And then she turned to see Eridor; suddenly he looked taller, older, more handsome, more magnificent than ever before. But also he seemed much calmer, happier, quicker to laugh than before, quicker to reply to Eragon's teasing. Arya slapped his chest in congratulatory fashion, but she knew she didn't really need to say anything.

Eragon was quieter with Saphira, his head turned to hers, her pointed nose by his cheek. They were talking, but Eragon finished, and he looked up; and Arya found that she was much closer to him than she had thought. So, with the euphoria making her cheeks bright, she leaned across, and kissed him; and he smiled against her lips and Saphira blew hot air onto their heads, but shielded them from view nonetheless.

In spite of the terrible things she had discovered just minutes ago, she had never been happier; never had she been so glad to know Eragon, to love him, and to have Eridor, her Soul, or Saphira, indescribably brilliant. They broke away, breathing heavily while Eridor shuffled to the side to hide them.

"I love you," Eragon said, pushing her short hair away from her face; their breath mingled, and their arms were tight about each other. "I do."

Arya leant her head on his chest, and smiled broadly, though she still had little breath. It was too god to be true, to wonderful, too special, almost, that Eridor loved Saphira, as she loved Eragon -

_Far too good._

"How much does Orrin want the Riders?" she asked, suddenly, with a dull dread in her stomach.

"What?" Arya ignored his face near hers.

"Is he as mad as Trianna? Does he desperately want the riders back?"

"To the point of stealing eggs and starting them himself, the fool," Eragon said. Arya heart sank.

"Saphira cannot have eggs - can never have children, not while Surda and the dwarves exist." Saphira made not a sound; Eridor shifted and lowered his head to Arya's; Eragon stiffened.

"What do you mean?"

"Your children will not be safe," she said, looking beseechingly up at the bright eyes of the dragon standing so still above her. "I know what politicians will do - they will take your children, they will not care if they think it will save their pathetic kingdoms -"

_You cannot know that, _Eridor said slowly. _It is not true!_

"It is," Arya insisted, fists clenching on Eragon's arms. "Wherever you go, they will hunt you down, find your nest. I'm sorry, Saphira, they will …!"

Saphira shuffled her iridescent wings, not looking at the Riders but staring at Eridor. _I should have known this happiness was not to be - I should have known it! _Smoke, black, acrid smoke roiled from her nostrils.

_We will fight them, _Eridor said wildly. _We don't care, we can still fight!_

"I will fight if I have to," Eragon said dully. "We both will."

"_I _won't," she said stubbornly. "I will not, for the sakes of these … these stupid, nonsensical, idiots!"

"There is nothing else to do now," Eragon said, looking mutinous, "but choose a side."

Arya stayed silent, wrapped in Eragon's arms, holding hers around him. She liked to be there, with him, she loved to feel his skin, smell his sent, and knew that he loved her -

Then with a sickening lurch, she imagined Saphira: torn by other ignorants from the person she loved, her hope of her own family taken away from her, and she and Eragon had the gall to love each other, to stand together, to kiss -

She put her hand son his chest and pushed him gently but resolutely away. "If Eridor cannot be with Saphira, I cannot be with you."

Eragon's face flickered with conflicting emotions; anger, misery, loss, _love_, so much _love_ - and Saphira keened low in her throat.

_Do not do so on our part, _she murmured. _We will cope._

"Arya's right, Saphira," Eragon said, gaze not moving from her white face. "We - we wouldn't do that to you both."

Saphira's whole demeanour seemed to sag. Eridor touched his nose to her cheek, and said fiercely: _There must be another way - there's always a way, how many time have you said that to us, Eragon?! _

"There is nowhere in this land we would be safe. Nowhere. There are no options," Arya said, her voice curt, because to try any other tone would mean the tears threatening to fall would drip freely down her face.

_None? _Saphira asked, her voice almost a croak, that of a hopeless woman. It was this that almost broke Arya's resolution to not love Eragon, to be with him: she put her hand to her eyes to stop the tears falling from her eyelashes, and when she lowered them, Eragon had turned away.

His hands were clenched at his side, but Arya knew he had turned away to hide his tears.

--

Now, then, before I can't resist the temptation to go to bed any longer, my very, very grateful thanks to all those how have reviewed this chapter:- **Claire1992, duh3471 **(but Russia's withdrawn now, right?) **Andlat Ebrithil, RockCityRoadStar, Arya 4 ever, NotToBeMessedWith **(yep, more twists) **raging-vampires, deddy2die4, Du Moi abr Wyrda, Ryder Blade, Lord Cornelius Ravencroft, Kelss6292, Porches As Bribes, Spooky Pumpkin, **and **Melcangel.**

This because I did not reply to any; Thanks very, very much to everyone who took the trouble to read and review J


	66. New Horizons

To those who reviewed: **Vaapad, Andrewthatsme, Kelss6692, Platypus Caper, xlilypadsx, Social Bunny, Spooky Pumpkin, Ryder Blade, Porsches As Bribes, Julian Blake, **_**Invaderm **_(I'll reply in the morning! But I'm nodding at the desk right now x) **RockCityRoadStar, mOOnlite-duskk, Melcangel, automaticsnow, cstt, oakel, Claire1992, Arya 4 ever, Lord Cornelius Ravencroft, Du Moi abr Wyrda, Stephen Kirton, Tidustide, Jack, deddy2die4.**

Thank you all _so, so much_, I'm - honoured - that you take the time to review, and for all of you, I hope this story ends in a fitting fashion.

One more to go!!

Chapter Sixty Six.

New Horizons.

Arya awoke from her lonely bed, in a small tent, filled with Angela's discarded herbs, the place she had lain for months as merely a dreamer, to the sound of rough voices and large feet stamping and armour creaking.

Used as she was to these sounds, she sat up and splashed her face with water from a basin, because now she had woken up, she'd remembered that she could not talk to Eragon; could not tell her troubles, could not kiss him, could not hold him.

So to avoid these thoughts, she yanked a forsaken bone comb through her short hair and marched outside, to find a group of human soldiers - Surdans, in truth, on their battle-hardened horses - waiting outside, walking about, getting ready for something. A few Kull stood nearby, adjusting the few bits of armour they wore.

"Where are you going, soldier?" she called to a man on a large grey horse. He looked down, and his face showed a little surprise behind the helmet.

"To the borders of the Desert, my Lady. Our scouts have reported a caravan of nomads leaving the Hardarac, and we are going to intercept them."

"Why?"

"We cannot be sure the nomads were not in league with Galbatorix; they may be looking for trouble."

"I see." Arya turned away, and mentioned the conversation to Eridor, who was sitting dully by her tent. She did not think the nomads would give trouble; they were not very clever, the nomads of the Hardarac: they did not often leave the Desert, because they could not understand the city-folks' ways.

_What are you doing? _Eridor asked slowly, sitting up.

_We can go and investigate the nomads, _she replied quickly. _We're quicker, we're more powerful._

_And you're ill, and you're weak -_

_I am not!_

_And you're not in the right state of mind, and you're being silly -_

_Stop it._

_Listen to _me_, Arya -_

Nevertheless, Eridor followed her to Roran's tent, where she announced she was going, that he should send the Surdans' back to their barracks; and Roran, trying to be courteous, had no way of stopping her, because neither Angela nor Eragon were at hand, and he did not know Eridor well enough to let him into his mind.

"Is this wise?" he had tried to say, but Arya had gone, and so had Eridor; Eridor still going at her for being irresponsible. But Arya was past caring and she saddled him and drew on her leather boots while trying to ignore the pain in her chest that was nothing to do with weakness of the body.

So Eridor had gone, too, because he didn't care either; Saphira was nowhere to be seen in the camp, and Eragon was goodness only knew where. So Eridor and Arya escaped - _left_ - the camp without being noticed.

Her heart ached.

--

If she had been in her right mind, Arya would have regretted returning to the Hardarac of her won free will; but as it was, she did not notice the sun that made her face bead with sweat, or the dry winds that blew from the sandy vastness.

_Where are these nomads, then? _she asked tiredly. Eridor sighed in grumpy fashion.

_North, North West of Bullridge town, _he answered.

_Oh - oh, there, look, I can see the wagons. _She stared down at the glinting wagons and tiny riders on tiny horses. _Let's go. _

As they soared downwards, Arya watched as the riders rearranged themselves, and felt little disturbances in the air, as wards were put up. By the time they had landed on the semi-sandy ground, a fair way away from the nomads, she could see strangely-patterned pennants flying from the wagons and the bridles made of soft cloth that the horses wore.

Arya unstrapped her arms and legs and half-drew Enëlya, bringing magic to crackle in her hands. There was a harsh shout from the wagons, and from behind them burst the riders.

Arya was not the sort to be overwhelmed, or taken by surprise, but she watched with interest as the riders came galloping up. They wore long, silvery robes, and cloths over their faces; none used the saddles humans so loved; and each one was holding magic, strange magic, that flickered and glowed, and each person's magic was a different colour.

There was a tall man on a black horse, whose magic was deep, blood-red; another who had little yellow balls floating near his head; a woman whose magic was purple, and whose two long knives were crackling that same colour; and another female, whose magic was blue, darker than Eragon's; she had a slender sword at her side, and as she rode little eddies of wind blew around horse's feet.

"Stop," she said forcefully. "My dragon and I mean you no harm." She repeated this in the Ancient Language, and the small force of riders halted in a ragged line before her.

"What business have you here?" asked the man on the black horse; Arya felt she should know the voice, its deep bass and strangely-accented undercurrents.

"We come on behalf of Roran Stronghammer. He wishes to know your business in these parts."

"Our business is our own," said one of the women, her purple-tinged knives lowered slightly. "No one ever cared before."

"Stop, Nyala," said the other woman; her magic stopped and she sheathed her sword. "Friend, not foe."

Arya turned to look at the other woman, and the woman laughed. She lifted her cloth veil and smiled up at Arya. "Welcome to my tribe, Arya Svit-Kona."

--

There seemed to be few children amongst the Grey Folk; three girls around ten, a boy about twelve, and three toddlers; Arya saw at least four gangly, teenaged boys and a girl with a lot of hair, yet here there were far more children than in Ellesmera. They all crowded around Eridor, and, after finding that was gentle, they came to adore him, climbing on him, playing with him, staring with big eyes at him. Arya thought it was a pity he had not met more children.

Nasuada - of course, Eragon had said she was alive - had led her to a wagon with yellow flags and had tied her horse to the wagon-tongue. Now Arya sat on the lip of the wagon, holding a cup of some yellow tea, and listening to Nasuada.

" … To the sea. We can't stay here: we aren't needed." Arya stared at the mention of the sea. "The Empire provided us with the opportunity to heal people and to help people - but Roran doesn't want that now, does he? Doesn't need us. Anyway," Nasuada stirred her own cup rather thoughtfully. "There's no fun here any more."

Arya surveyed Nasuada shrewdly. _Lady_ Nasuada had never said fun, never laughed, never been such an integral part of a group like she was now. Arya thought she looked happier.

"Why are you going to the sea? Will there be more work there?"

Nasuada frowned a little. "Work? We've already reserved building materials."

"What are you building?"

Nasuada looked nonplussed; she seemed to think everyone should know exactly what she meant. "Well, a ship of course. Lots of ships - three or four."

"Are you being pirates now?" asked Arya dryly. Nasuada shook her head slightly.

"You are far too cynical, Arya." Arya thought this was too good to be true from Nasuada herself, shrewd warlord and leader. "No, we are going to find ourselves somewhere else to live. Where we can be free - where there are new lands to explore, and new people to meet and new things to learn."

"You're sailing?" Arya said in a near whisper. "But how? How do you know where you're going?"

"You are elf, Arya," she replied gravely. "Your people came from over the sea, long ago. Have you no lore from that time?"

"Perhaps. But we do not speak of that to others." But Arya's voice was not hard, and Nasuada did not look abashed.

"The humans landed in the Beors - the first time they came. The second, near the Spine, which is how Palancar came to inhabit Eragon's valley. But you, the elves, you sailed to Teirm - so says legend?" she said enquiringly. Arya dipped her head slightly.

"Legend is right. Our home land has always lain to the East."

"Then, our lore is correct, too; for, so say our own legends, once Alagaesia and another land, far away, were once connected. And at that time, we, the Grey Folk, all lived alone here, but for the dragons. Then there was a natural disaster; an earth-tremble or a volcano." Nasuada shrugged. "Some were stranded here, some in the breakaway part. So the two lands separated, and now it is all but forgotten.

"We do not know if the land Palancar sailed from was the other land - that you call Alalea. Perhaps not, given that he landed in the Beors, and your people in Teirm. But we will try - we are going to sail from Teirm."

"But have you not heard what Eragon and Roran think? What they know? Palancar and his men were fleeing their homeland, else they would not have come: and after them came the Urgals, like … like flies seeking meat."

Nasuada looked down, and took a sip of her yellow drink. "We know that - but Palancar being a King, it could be he was fleeing civil war. He could have been defeated, lost his kingdom and fled with those that were loyal to him."

Arya fixed Nasuada with a stern glare. "Do you know what else came over the Seven Seas after them? The Ra'zac. The Ra'zac and their filthy parents. It took the Riders hundreds of years to destroy them, and even then two escaped! You - you humans - you are their favoured prey. Imagine a land where they run rampant!"

"We, here," Nasuada replied coolly, "are not humans."

"Then on your own heads be it," Arya replied, then sighed. "Still, you are free: you can do what you wish."

"To some extent, yes," frowned Nasuada. "But so are you. You and Eridor, you are healed;" she paused, and Arya knew he was taking in Arya's thin cheeks and short hair. "And you've got Eragon … and Saphira."

Arya gave Nasuada a disgruntled look, as with a stab of pain she remembered Eragon back at the camp. She avoided the other woman's eyes and instead stared out at where a boy of twelve was sitting on Eridor's nose.

" … Give you whatever you wanted, after he's crowned. Eragon could ask for the whole of Palancar Valley, if he wanted to," Nasuada was saying, leaning against the wooden part of the wagon.

"He doesn't want to," Arya said at once, and then turned, sharply, back on Nasuada. "In fact, peace is worse than war. Have you heard nothing from the Varden?"

"No," said Nasuada, looking alarmed. "I haven't."

Arya pursed her lips, wondering where to start, and embarked on the quickest version of recent events she could tell; and she watched Nasuada's face get darker and darker, and watched little crackles of blue magic creep up and down her arms.

"I left them - I though they could cope," she whispered, voice hollow. "I trusted them! And Roran, too, I -"

"Roran _can_ cope!" Arya replied quickly. "But he must play properly with the politicians, he must not loose the crown he hasn't even worn yet! And Eragon and Saphira want Roran on the throne - so do we."

"Well, what are you going to do?" she said in a low voice. "I don't see how Saphira and Eridor can …" She trailed off, and picked at her sleeves thoughtfully. "I don't see how I can help you, either. I cannot reappear from the dead, and if I did, it would only split the Varden further … I'm sorry."

Arya stared at her, not really seeing her; ideas, wild ideas were forming in her mind; she opened her mouth to ask Nasuada something else, but a little dark-skinned creature had come gasping and shouting into the wagon; it landed itself firmly in Nasuada's lap and sat pouring forth torrents of the strange form of the Ancient Language the Grey Folk spoke.

"Hush, Firéa," Nasuada said, smiling down at the girl in her lap. "You know I cannot understand you when you speak so fast."

"Kiyés frightened Ira!" the girl wailed, as well as Arya could interpret it. "And she's runned off, and I can't find her!"

"Ira doesn't get frightened," Nasuada said lightly. "What happened."

"She's scared of the scale-flapper!" she cried, lifting her arms up and down in demonstration. "And - and …" she tailed off, her dark eyes wide as she saw Arya. "Ooh," she said, and hid her face in Nasuada's robes. Arya watched, her expression softening.

"What does she mean?"

"Ira is Firéa's dog," Nasuada replied, smiling, "and Kiyés takes great delight in stealing her from Firéa."

"Can we go and get her now?" asked Firéa herself, voice muffled. "I think Kiyés wants to steal a horse and go after her."

"Oh." Nasuada looked faintly worried, then looked to Arya. "He'll do it as well, you know, that boy. He couldn't be more troublesome if he tried. Are you going to stay? Or you could come with us, I could find a horse -"

"No, but thank you," said Arya, putting down her cup. "We have to go, but I would like to bring Eragon and Saphira here, if I may."

"I told Eragon he was always welcome here with us," Nasuada replied placidly. "But why?"

"I think you can help us … I think so."

"Of course I will help if I can, but _how_, Arya?"

Arya pursed her lips, unsure of what to say. "Let me think about it; and let me bring Eragon here."

Nasuada's nostrils flared in way Arya was familiar with, having seen it in many Council exasperating meetings. "Do you enjoy keeping people at sea, Arya?"

She smiled grimly at Nasuada's unintentional pun. "Maybe."

--

Eragon pulled the entrance to the command tent violently open and stepped inside, jaw clenched. It was bad enough that Arya had gone off to the desert, worse that instead of following them he was summoned like a page-boy to the tent where the Grimstboriths had revealed their treacherous plan.

Six of the Clan chiefs were sitting at the able - their legs dangling underneath it - with their weapons hung over their backs. Each one smiled a craggy smile as he entered.

"We hear that Vanyali Arya has regained consciousness," said one in rough, accented tones. Eragon stared suspiciously at him.

"She has."

"And she is in good health?"

"She is well enough."

"And her dragon?"

Eragon stiffened. He knew where this was going. "If Eridor's well-being is of great concern to you, I know he will be quite ready to come and assure you of it."

This faintly threatening sentence echoed around the tent, yet only two or three dwarves looked worried. "That is not necessary," said the first one, with a black-and-grey beard. "You are quite suited to our purpose."

This sounded more sinister than Eragon's threat. He restrained himself from using magic with difficulty. "And what might that be?"

"You must tell him our wishes concerning the Riders." The dwarf smiled. "I believe you agreed to accommodate our wishes?"

"I bloody well did not," he said fiercely. They stared. "What imbecile told you _that_ -?!"

"Remember your place, Shadeslayer," said another, older one with a long grey beard. He wore the mark of Durgrimst Quan, and his eyes were coal-black and glittering. "You were adopted into Ingietum, on sufferance. We do not owe you."

"Owe me?" Eragon snarled. "You owe me Farthen Dur, you owe me the Star Rose - you owe me more than anything I owe you, so remember _your_ place, my Lord!"

His face flushed. "This is not a matter of whom owes what - this about the Riders, and you indicating to the dragon what he has to do -"

The papers littering the table caught fire as Eragon trembled with anger at this coarse way of speaking about Eridor, and he leapt forward, with a feral snarl -

"No." Another cooler, smoother hand slipped into his. And of course Eragon knew immediately whose it was, for he knew her smell, her touch, her voice -

"Leave them, Eragon. There are better things to do today."

He stared at the dwarves, some of whom were frozen, some were scowling, some were in the act of reaching for their weapons, and turned, to focus on Arya. Her eyes were solemn, but bright, and she had dust or sand smudged on her face. Her hand tightened on his. "Come with me."

Such was their surprise that the dwarves did not try to stop him: only watched with narrowed eyes he left, following Arya obediently, and then started to beat out the fires he had involuntarily started.

The sun was bright outside, as if in mockery of his feelings. Arya led him far away from the tent, and, in the shade of a large healing pavilion, she turned and looked at him, for the first time. Eragon felt a rush of the love he was seemingly to be forever denied and stared back at her, wondering what to say, how to say it -

"Where did you go?" he asked eventually, quietly. She looked away, could not meet his eyes.

"We found Nasuada's tribe - the Grey Folk."

Eragon breathed out quietly, too hollow even to make any noise of surprise. Arya continued, voice careful: "They are waiting near the desert for us. I asked if they would mind you coming back with me."

"Why?" he asked dully.

"Because … because if they allow us, we can go with them to a place where no one from Alagaesia will find us - no one. The Riders will not return, Orrin and the Clan Chiefs will be denied, forever, of that: and we'll be free: we will!"

"That's too good to be true," he said, listening with disbelief, subduing the leap of hope that had risen inside him.

"It's not. The Grey Folk are building ships; they are going to sail."

"What are you talking about?" Eragon said, looking more afraid than curious. "How -"

"They're going to sail to the other lands across the sea, back to Alalea! Back to where my people came from, where _your_ people came from …! There will be no Surda there, no dwarves!" Her eyes sparkled, but Eragon could not smile. He remembered, sharply, what Angela had said, years ago, in her funny little shop in Teirm.

"If I left, I will never come back here. Never."

"Yes." She looked slightly nonplussed. "I know."

"But this is my home …! I can't just - just sail away and leave everyone behind, and never see them again -!"

She touched his arm cautiously, unsure of where each of them stood in this matter. "I love my home, I love Ellesmera and Du Weldenvarden. I love Niduen, too, and - and she is all that is left of my family." Her eyes softened. "I know you have family - I know you will miss them. You don't have to come."

Eragon closed his eyes. In his mind's eye he could see Roran, already with lines on his face; he knew Roran would age, as would Katrina; he knew that he would be left, untouched, as they withered and died over the decades …

"I can't see them die," he said, in a choked voice. "But I - what about Elva? I will never know her - and it is my fault she is as she is. And - I …"

He trailed off, hands clenched, trembling. In truth, there were very things that were important to him now. Galbatorix was dead; the dwarves did not need him, the Varden did not need him, nor did anyone else.

His gaze landed on Arya. He loved her so much - and Eridor loved Saphira: he knew that neither dragon could truly survive without the other, and he was not sure, either, that he could live without Arya.

Then he scowled, at being so weak: yet it seemed to him that most people were rebuilding their lives, were happy, were allowed to be free. And still, he and Saphira were not. It was cruel, and it was unfair - and, he realised, it did not have to be.

"Come with me to see Nasuada. She and the tribe leader, they will talk with us. I will ask them if we can accompany them, I will offer our services, such as they are."

"Will they have us?" he asked quietly, hoarsely.

"The Grey Folk have no quarrel with us. I do not see why they should refuse us."

Eragon stood in indecision, staring, feeling Arya's hand on his arm. Oh, just to be able to love her freely again …

"Do you remember," she said quietly, after a long while, "the night you came to elven camp, after the first day of fighting?"

"Yes," he said, although it seemed like another world ago, in truth.

"I should have told you then, before we went back to the battle." She stepped closer, and twined her hands with his. "I love you. I've never told you that, but do. As much as I possibly could. And if I can't be happy with you, then I can never be happy at all." Her voice shook, and so did Eragon's hands in hers. "So, please, please come with us, _please_, Eragon …"

Eragon put his arms about her waist, and drew her close, leaning his head to hers; his voice came with great difficulty. "I'd do anything for you. You know that - don't you?"

Arya nodded, breathing quickly, trying to dispel the wetness around her eyes, the lump in her throat. "Yes," she whispered, clutching the material of his shirt tightly.

"And I don't think I can stay here … not any more. Especially …" he swallowed, touching her cheek softly. "Especially not without you. I will come with you to the Grey Folk."

Arya let out a quiet breath in relief; she leant her forehead against his, and their breath mingled, and Eragon could smell her hair, and her sweet skin and feel the butterfly-pulse in her neck: they stood together, held each other, but, for now, to kiss was forbidden: but not, each swore, for long.

--

Fire-lamps on poles were burning high and bright, placed as they were on the boundaries of the circle that the group of cloak people sat in. Their weapons were hung in a row on nearby wagon; horses were tethered to its tongue. In the middle of the circle, another fire roared; but this was magical, and it was made of the magic of every person present.

The stars twinkled high in the black sky above the fringes of the desert: a crescent moon sailed from constellation to constellation, and she watched the gathering with a serene gaze. The Grey Folk had always met like this, an ancient tradition, and even the addition of two strangers, and dragons did not surprise her.

There was fire also, in the middle of the circle; it was needed in the cold desert night; some griddle cakes were cooking on some stones, and at odd intervals children would wander over, take one or two, and wander back to where they were sitting, some with Eridor and Saphira: they seemed to adore the dragons.

No one was excluded from this meeting, and all listened intently as Azhborn, tall and dark-eyed, talked.

"So. You wish to gain passage on our ships." He paused, deep voice lingering a little after he had finished. "We have heard our reasons for this: are agreed?"

A show of hands: a majority.

"Objections?"

There was only one, a thin, wiry man. "Is it not dangerous to take such unusual people to an unknown land? They may cause trouble, or start fighting. I know we wish to be peaceful there."

"If we stay here," Arya said clearly, "there will be civil war, and the race of dragons enslaved. We also wish for peace, and will avoid it as clearly as possible. But we cannot stay here."

The man sat down: no one looked very perturbed, and it had all been conducted very politely. Azhborn watched a girl juggling her hot griddlecake in her hand, and then looked at Eridor. "The race of dragons must be returned to this land: but if the only for that to happen is these two that sit here with us now to be made as slaves, then I cannot condone it. Is it agreed?"

This time every hand was raised, barring that of the girl with hot cake and her brother whining after a little bit for himself. Arya relaxed slightly where sat next to him, and Nasuada smiled.

"Does this mean more ships?" asked a woman, looking faintly irritated. "I've just written an letter to the builders requesting the things were discussed before and I really don't want to do it again. The human runes are so ugly."

"Wait a moment, Peilin," Nasuada said. "We come to details soon. First, we must grant Eragon and Arya passage."

She glanced up at Azhborn, who returned the look briefly. "Nasuada is right. Price, size, food, all can be arranged afterwards. Does this, the nineteenth meeting of the Grey Council, rule in favour of allowing Arya Drottningu, Eragon Shadeslayer, son of Brom, Saphira Bjartskular and Eridor, son of Galeru passage on our ships?"

There was restless pause, were some people whispered to each other, and the griddle cakes were depleted some more. Slowly, up went the hands. Five, ten, twelve, fifteen, twenty-five … The Tribe was the last on left in Alagaesia, and it was large. Forty, fifty, fifty-nine …

But Azhborn knew each person, every child and warrior, and he counted them carefully. "Majority - a clean majority." He turned to look at Eragon and Arya, and gazed long on the two dragons. "You may sail with us."

"Thank you," Eragon said after a moment, coming back to reality with a jerk. "This is great honour. Our abilities are at your disposal."

"They are accepted." Azhborn made a quick, fluttering movement of thanks. His black eyes glittered. "Be ready, Riders. We sail on Midsummer's Day."

The fires flickered and went out, as the Grey Council disbanded.

--

Eragon knew Roran had never had much to do with horses, except at ploughing time, and he knew that Roran did not find riding them particularly comfortable. But there was never going to be attention paid to the horses at the farm they had come to, not now Eragon had told Roran what he had meaning to for quite a while.

"You are mad," his cousin said, staring at him, brown eyes narrowed. "Truly mad, Eragon."

"I am not. This is the only way."

Roran looked away, to gaze unseeing at a pair of palfreys grooming each other in a nearby paddock. "Ships are not predictable things," he said slowly. "A hundred things can go wrong with them: and the sea is a temperamental thing. A voyage around Alagaesia is dangerous enough - coral reefs, storms, the Boar's Eye …" Roran's eyes darkened a moment, remembering, and continued: "And when you get far out, in the ocean, there are … things out there. The sailors would talk about them, when they'd had too much rum. Thing with eight legs, massive things the size of dragons, with mouths large enough to swallow a ship whole …"

"Are you trying to scare me?" Eragon asked with a raised eyebrow. Roran frowned.

"No. I am telling you that sailing on a ship with tens of other people is not amusing, nor is it romantic. It is hard work, it is cramped, it is uncomfortable, it is dangerous. It's not worth taking your chances with the ocean."

"It is," Eragon said gently. "Because Alagaesia will go to war if we stay."

"Alagaesia has been to war before," he replied stubbornly, then caught the look on Eragon's face, and shook his head wearily. "No, I do not mean that. I will be a king; it will be my duty to avoid war … especially civil war. But I never, never, would have wanted to loose you in this way! This is wrong -!"

"We are not who we were brought up to be, Roran. You're not a farmer, and I'm nothing. It is _not_ wrong; we have to do what is right by those who trust us, and that means averting war. I'm not so selfish as to stay here and let that happen."

"And this, this is not running away?" his cousin asked with a shrewd glance.

"No - how can you say that?" Eragon said, and grabbed Roran's arm. "You have to listen to me, Roran. _There is no other way._ And we are going whether you like it or not."

"How touching a way to say goodbye," Roran said sarcastically, turning away to watch Rhys the horseman trying to examine a stallion's teeth.

"No, it is not!" Eragon returned fiercely. "You know that. And Roran, listen: you are mortal. You will live a few decades, and it will be your children who will live on: but I, I will live for a very, very long time. I am immortal. And perhaps you may not mind it, but I _can not_ stay here and watch you get old and die. I cannot."

Roran did not respond for a long minute; then he turned back to Eragon, an odd look on his face. "I never considered that: I forget, sometimes, how much you have changed."

Eragon said nothing. He stroked the nose of a dapple mare who had come to see him, and waited for Roran to say something else.

"When are you going?"

"Midsummer's Day."

Roran frowned. "You will not see our coronation ceremony, then."

Eragon lowered his eyes. "I'm sorry, Roran. Perhaps it means little to you, but I know that you will rule this land well: we will not need to worry in that way. I wish I could see this country returned to what it was … they are already calling it the Golden Age, did you know that? I have no doubt that it will be so. I only want your blessing, when we go."

Roran looked down, then up; his face contorted. "And you have it! Go, even if we never recover. I know you - you will not stop for anything anyway."

"Thank you, Roran - thank you," Eragon replied fervently clasping his cousin's arm tight. "Bless you."

"And may the Gods be with you," he said solemnly. Eragon smiled grimly.

"May they be with all of us."

--

Arya stood and stared, and stared and stared, drinking in the sight of the sun glancing off the water, the littler waves topped with white foams, the cormorants fishing in the surface. She had never seen the sea before, never seen the great mass of water that her ancestors, millennia ago, had sailed across. And, as with all elves, it had strong attraction.

"It's beautiful," she breathed, gripping Eragon's hand tight; her cropped hair waved in the blustery sea breeze.

"I know," he said, smiling down at her. He'd seen it before, whereas Arya, who had travelled from country to country, but never before the fringes of the Empire, had never seen it, the restless shining expanse.

_I could stay here forever, _she said to Eridor, from where he and Saphira stood a little back from the cliff that overlooked the city of Teirm. _I could never, never in all my life dream of anything so beautiful. _

_I can see that, _he replied, somewhat cautiously. _Do you suppose it's good for swimming?_

_I should think so, _said Arya brightly. _Shall we -?_

"Maybe somewhere not so … busy," Eragon said, grabbing her arm in case she dashed off to the beach there and then. As he spoke, a large, smart sloop came sailing around the point that hid the city from view: this, too, Arya drank hungrily, gazing at the mast, the rigging, the poop deck, the massive anchors hanging on the side …

"It must be extraordinary to sail on one of those," she said in a faraway voice. Eragon wrinkled his nose doubtfully. He did think it sounded exactly ideal, and he was not sure of the idea of never standing on firm land .. But it could not need a stronger stomach than flying did. So instead, on this rare day of happiness, he ignored these faint misgivings and simply enjoyed Arya's delight; it was infectious.

"To think we're going to be out there for so long," he said sadly. "Roran mentioned weevils in the flour …"

"You are so gloomy!" laughed Arya. "Imagine, the salt and the sea and the waves, everyday and all night …!"

"I can," he said doubtfully. "But Roran's voyage did not sound like tremendous fun, you know."

"Roran is trying to prepare you for the worst," she said dismissively. "We have spellcasters, and the ships are being made to the Grey Folks' specific wishes. I am sure we will be fine." She became solemn. "Niduen is not happy. She cried when I told her. She thinks I'm going to be lost at sea."

Eragon heard her falter, and put his arm around her instead. "She said I'd never been afraid to fight before - why was I now, when Eridor's future was compromised? And … I told her it wasn't just his future - it was … _ours_. I told her that I loved you. She said nothing else."

"She loves you," he said softly, kissing her head. "She does not want you hurt. I think she will agree, in the end."

"I won't go until she gives me her blessing," Arya replied stubbornly. "It's not worth _that_ much."

"No," Eragon agreed quietly, thinking of Roran, and how large the divide between them would be, come Midsummer's Day. "It's not."

They stood for a long time, on the edge of that cliff, in the gusty sea winds; the dragons watched the breakers come in and smash on the jagged rocks beneath them, and they followed the sea-birds as they fished. Arya and Eragon too together, hair tangling together, hand in hand, as they watched the sun drop lower on the ocean, smelt the tangy air filled with the scents of seaweed and fish, and tasted the salty air.

Only as the sun dropped behind the horizon, and plunged the world into a deep, dark blue did they stir: and Saphira and Eridor, flew carrying their Riders far away under the waxing moon, as the stars started to shine in the soft blue sky.

--

Oh my goodness: the second-last chapter! I'm on such a tight deadline - Book Three's out on the 20th, right? - but I swear I will work till midnight each night till I'm done.

Wish me luck!


	67. Song of the Deep

The. Last. One.

Speechless.

Chapter Sixty Seven.

Song of the Deep.

The whole of Roran's soon-to-be household was moving into Gil'ead Keep, preparing it to be the home of the King, the capital city of the new Bröddring Kingdom. Maids were ruthlessly attacking spider-nests and cobwebs with brooms as tall them; butlers polished silver with feverish vigour; chambermaids hung tapestries and bought wash basins, baths, oak screens, and luxurious bedding for every chamber: horses were trained, carriages bought, drivers employed: the whole city bustled with new life, and Jormundr presided over it all, like a great, benevolent sage.

Amidst this merriment, as the summer climbed towards its peak, the cliffs surrounding Isenstar Lake, tall, grey, bleak, were swept with wind from the north. Arya stood with a handful of flowers - violets, her mother's favourite - and stared down at the little boats floating about below. This body of water did not fill her with joy, only misery, and she wished for the freedom of the ocean.

She looked up at Eragon, sitting on Saphira's front leg a way down the hill, then turned back to the lake. Her mother's ashes had been spread here, by Dathedr, not _her_, so she had come to pay her respects.

"I am sorry I was not here, mother," she said to the wind. "but Eragon was. I am sorry I did not tell you about Eridor, but I could not. I am sorry I was not a better daughter."

And with a bitter tear on her cheek, she whispered a spell that crumbled the violets to ashes, too; the little, delicate slivers of petals and leaves fluttered to the ground, some flying away to land on the lake, some landing a mere foot away. Their sweet smell lingered on the air, and Arya wiped the tear away. No more tears; this was her final goodbye to her mother.

"Goodbye," she said, and walked away, back to Eragon, who said nothing but followed her down the hill, back to the city. Behind, the violets settled, deep into the earth.

And though Arya would never see it, nor anyone know their origin, the tiny slivers of petals would go deep into the earth, to grow, and flower, and become a thicket of sweet, fragrant flowers unlike any others seen in the human kingdom, on account of their sweet smell and the properties of healing they provided.

Yet, only the brave would go and gather them, for it was said in legend, in a tale handed down from mother to daughter, father to son, that the flowers were sewn by the daughter of the Faerie Folk as a sign of mourning, and that to pick them was to invoke her revenge. Who the Faerie Folk were, or had been, legend never said, but the tale was fondly cherished and quietly feared for many hundreds of years, as long as the violets went on flowering.

--

"There, there," said Katrina, patting the sobbing maid on the criss-cross ties of her pinafore. "I'm sure it's not that bad."

"Oh yes it is!" the girl said, tears streaking her face. "The _pig_!"

"Don't say that too loudly, Hephzibah," Katrina said. "There are the King's men here, you know."

"King's men!" Hephzibah returned with a derision that was very high-pitched. "I'll give them _King's men!_" And she leapt up, as if she really would go and shout at the Surdan cavalry.

"No, no. Sit down, have some tea …" Katrina proffered some beef tea and gave her a handkerchief. They were sitting in Katrina's new solar, from where she could see all of Gil'ead and even the corner of the lake. Hephzibah, to Katrina's surprise, had turned up with Orrin's household for the coronation ceremony, and had promptly quit her job as a maid.

"What are you going to do?" she'd asked. The maid had scowled.

"I don't know. Be a washerwoman?"

But Katrina had found a placement in the chambermaids following the marriage of another girl, and so Hephzibah had a living. But she had not, however, got over the discovery of Trianna's engagement and Orrin being such a … such a … well, Katrina could find no word to describe it. How could a man - a King, no less - lead on such a naïve girl, who adored him, and then drop her the moment her caught sight of another pretty face?

Katrina scowled, as Hephzibah scowled at her tea. "I hate men."

"Mm," Katrina said in a non-committal way. She was not impressed by Orrin, but she did love Roran. "Try not to let him get to you, dear. You can't let him win."

"I won't," Hephzibah said in a thunderous tone. "Ooh, I'm going to give him such a piece of my mind …" She got up, grabbed her broom and kerchief, tied it over her head and stormed out of the solar leaving her beef tea and a lot of dust behind her.

Katrina sighed.

--

The children all crowded around Greta, Firéa's mother, for cakes and food. Nasuada watched them play with a strip of bright ribbon, as she folded down some woollen blankets as small as they would go. Nyala, Peilin and the other warriors had ridden off to Teirm to check on the building of the ships, and Nasuada had been left to pack with the others.

She'd never been good with things like this, even as a child, when her governess had tried to teach her womanly things, like embroidery, knitting and packing clothes and making beds. She decided, that day, to fold them like horse rugs and stuff them in the cloth bags someone had given her.

All the wagons were loaded up, ready to make the trek to Teirm, and the ship yards. It would be a long road to travel, but it was doable, and no worse than any they had done before. She just wished, now, that they could go.

For a moment she paused in her feverish packing, a swell of sorrow billowing inside her, as she realised she would ever be able to visit her father's grave, never see her handsome study in Tronjheim again, or the wonders she had known as leader of the Varden.

But she had forfeited all that willingly to come with the Grey Folk. There was little left for her here but a life enslaved to politics and paperwork; so it did not really matter whether she was with the Grey folk, here, in Alagaesia, or across the sea, in Alalea or somewhere else.

She'd survive. She always survived. Besides, she thought, looking fondly at Toá the toddler, now she even had a family, a large, noisy happy family that she was a part of. Wherever they went, she would go too.

She absent-mindedly stuffed another rug into the bag. It promptly split at the seams and an avalanche of woolly blankets went tumbling to the floor.

Greta sighed.

--

Orrin sat, lounging in an overstuffed armchair, in the suite provided for him. Of course, being as he was not exactly married yet, Trianna had her own rooms, but had been inexorably drawn to his. He grinned. She smiled back, blue eyes slitting as she did so; the golden snake on her arm flicked his tongue in glee.

"Why don't you call for some food to be brought up?" she asked languidly. "I am so hungry …"

"But the evening meal will laid out in banqueting hall soon, my love," he protested quietly, thinking that he could then be sure the Rider was still in the city and had not run away to the Beors. "We must be polite."

"Nonsense," she said breathily. "It will be just me and you … and everyone will be busy downstairs … my love."

"Oh, in that case," he said grinning, as she smiled slowly. "Perhaps it _would_ be acceptable -"

There was a loud, smart rap on the oak door. He scowled and stood up to open, flicking back the bolts and opening it so that it banged off the wall. "What?!"

"My Lord," said the sergeant from his cavalry, his dark hair cut soldier-straight. "My Lord, we would be glad of your advice in the stables. My Lady's -" his brown eyes flicked to Trianna, standing behind him with lazy, snooty look on her haughty face, "My Lady's palfrey has struck her hoof in the stable. She is severely lame, Majesty."

"Ah, I see. Very well, Sergeant, I will be there shortly." He shut the door quickly, and turned back to Trianna. "I have to go -"

"I'll come too," she said, reaching for her long, rich, embroidered cloak, one he had had commissioned for her, and tying it about her white neck. "She is my horse now, after all."

The stables of Gil'ead were square, grey things, made for military horses; it suited the Surdan cavalry - the small portion that had come down to guard Orrin's delegation - very well. Serafia the mare was standing, leg hooked in relaxation, in the middle of her straw-strewn box, with a groom feeding her a nice mash.

Orrin and the sergeant fussed about with the mare for a while, looking for puss in her foot, or thrush, or laminitis, or even a bruise but there was nothing. Eventually, Orrin looked up to see Trianna smiling that smile down at them.

"What?" he asked, disgruntled. She smiled, and turned her head so that her hair glinted magpie-blue in the lamplight.

"Nothing, my love."

"Can't you come and do something?" he said, irritated suddenly. She shook her head.

"No," she said, a teasing smirk curling her red lips. "I do so enjoy watching you work."

He frowned and turned away, not daring to start an argument, but not happy either. He heard her dress rustle, and realised the sergeant had not joined him in tying the bandage around the mare's leg.

"Is something wrong, Mr Sergeant?" asked his wife-to-be, almost playfully, but with an underlying iron. He straightened. The soldier gave Trianna a hard, silent look and replied in stiff tones:

"No, Lady."

The man looked back to the mare and began working the bandage, and Orrin bent to help him. He was vaguely troubled. He knew that many people in his household did not like Trianna, did not approve of her. But that was because she … why was it? Because she was older than him? Because she was beautiful?

Perhaps, because she was a hated magician? Nonsense; the magicians had helped them win the war. Because she had worked her way up the ranks, was an independent woman?

Oh, it was only a little tension. Nothing to be worried about. They would soon grow to love her in Surda, as the Queen she truly was. She was talented, she was beautiful, she was clever, canny, wise … the list went on; yet as he patted the mare goodbye and offered her his arm, he did not really feel as if his reasons were sound.

If Orrin had looked deep enough inside himself, he would have seen why his people did not like her; he would have seen the manipulative ways, the hard looks. The way her narrow eyes darted from diplomatic to diplomat, planning, planning.

In the future, had he looked deep enough, he would have seen that she was not a mothering woman; and all his children were destined to be handed to a wet nurse, and absented from their cool mother. He would have seen the rift starting, first in his court, then his country, then his army. He would have known why she was snubbed repeatedly in court, and why so many men and women were sent to a dark gaol because they had upset her.

He might have been more accommodating when Roran, King by then, had intervened and reminded him of his duty to try and sentence these people before throwing them away. He might not have made the death sentence a sentence for stealing bread, or not meeting the deadlines in the quarries.

Had he known his true self, listened to the soul imprisoned, he would have saved his country from becoming fractious, disillusioned, poor.

He did not.

--

Orik dandled his son, five months old and dressed in nothing but his cloth napkin, on his knee, and stared across the room, his foul mood tempered only by the presence of young Orodüm.

The Clan chiefs ha finally been pacified. He'd told them that as long if they left Eragon a few months to recover, he would be more willing to further their cause. Of course, this was a lie. Eragon would never agree. Orik only hoped he would find a solution to their problems, within a year at least. He could not hold the dwarves off forever.

Orodüm gurgled happily, stuffing his stubby fingers in his toothless mouth, and Orik smiled. It all seemed to pale in comparison to his son, who was without the handsomest, cleverest, most extraordinary child ever born. He lifted the baby up to his face and grinned, making his won gurgling noises and nonsense talk.

If any of his people ever saw him in this way, he was sure he would never be respected again; even Hvedra did not descend into wide-eyed soppiness at the sight of him. He was the one who wanted to shower his son with gifts and hold him forever and never let go.

He was quite mad, as Hvedra said. But as long he had son, his beloved wife, his home, he was happy. Other men would have to tend to their own problems for now. This was his family, and he would not forfeit them for anything.

--

The sea was strange, Eridor reflected, scraping the sea bed with his claws. On the surface, it looked almost solid, just a great mass of blue-grey that rose and fell as if raised on the back of some huge monster.

But underneath it, in the underwater world he had recently discovered, everything was quite different. The currents were stronger, yet invisible. The swells of water pushed at him, battered him as he swam deeper, into the bay of Teirm.

It was like people - dragons, too - he thought. On the surface, their expressions changed, but their features never went, they always looked the same despite the variety of emotions humans showed. Yet beneath their façades, who could know what another was thinking? Emotions ran thick and strong in everyone, and they were not always visible.

That, he knew, was why no one should be underestimated.

His breath had all been blown out of him. He resurfaced, coming up with a splutter of water and steam into the mouth of the harbour. A fishing boat nearby nearly capsized with the turbulence he created. The people shouted; Eridor turned wolfish grin on them and paddled off somewhere else.

Saphira had gone off with Eragon, on a strong wind, to Dras Leona. They would not be there long, and soon would be back, but they had gone to say goodbye to Brom - Eragon's father, Saphira's mother's Rider. It was his turn.

For a moment, Eridor imagined having a relatives to say farewell - even dead ones. Well, that would be bothersome and unhappy, and it was bad enough for Arya; she didn't know he had gone to that hill in the night and sung to flower-pieces to make them grow. He wasn't going to tell her, not for a long while.

But he'd told Saphira, the same way he told her everything - the way they shared everything. Why did he need relatives when he had Saphira? And Arya, and Eragon?

A lobster pot scraped against his tail as he glided about. He eyed the lobster inside for a moment, and decided against. A fisherman would probably want it at some point. Eridor, now being a welcome part of the human kingdom rather than an outlaw, now had to be conscientious. Saphira had particular trouble with this. She'd been eating farm animals for years.

A shoal of grey fish swam by as Eridor submerged himself again. He eyed them gloomily, and imagined eating them and nothing else while Eragon and Arya were at sea. Of course, he and Saphira would not fit on a ship, and would alternate between flying and swimming.

As the fish came past again - apparently mistaking him for a large-bellied ship - he snatched at one, a large one. If he was going to have to eat them, he might as well start now.

He paddled past a fishing net - not noticing the stares he got for carrying such an enormous fish- and carried it onto the beach, settling down to eat it.

Once you got past the bones, and the strange little insides, fish were quite pleasant to eat. Eridor happily devoured it, and sat drying himself in the sun for a long while afterward. By the afternoon, he was quite refreshed. He left the eyes - he had not been able to eat them - behind, and flew back to Arya.

The sea kept moving, swelling, rising, falling impassively. It did not care what he did, yet, inexorably, inexplicably, Eridor liked it. He decided then, on impulse that he liked the sea; and, consequently, for the rest of his life he would have a tireless, unending affinity with the sea.

But he never really came to like lobsters at all.

--

He sat sunning himself, in a bright sunbeam. His tufty hair stuck up on end, and his yellow eyes were closed in utter relaxation. Of course, he felt her approach, and leap up next to him on the ledge; he did not open his eyes but waited for her to speak.

But she did not. So, eventually, he lazily opened his lids a fraction, and growled: _Can't you leave a person to sleep?_

_I've been watching you. You spend all day trotting around with that witch; it's no wonder you have to sleep in the daylight hours. _

_Ah, wise words from the one who has not left Du Weldenvarden for a hundred years. _

_I, _she said, _know the value of preserving knowledge. I only travel when there is need … and in comfort. The elves are very useful for that. _She stretched her paws ostentatiously. He showed his white fangs.

_My dear Maud, I know you only left to see me. _

_Only in your wildest delusions, cat, _she replied with a snarl. _I am not a lap-toy for a human witch._

_Angela prefers apothecary, _he said. _Besides, I am sure she would like a new form of rodent to practice her experiments on. _He cracked his eyes open again to see her reaction to this. All she did was bite his tail.

_Maudie! _he exclaimed in horror, curling his afflicted tail round him tight. _Why, you rude little creature! No better than a Dras Leona street urchin. I'm surprised at you. _

_Oh, believe me, lap-cat, I can do more than that. _Her eyes glittered almost malevolently. Indeed, they were very frightening in her scruffy, fierce face, but Solembum knew better. She was just pleased to see him.

_If you say so, _he said with a mental shrug. She flicked her pink tongue.

_Not willing to test that, I suppose, Sol?_

_I'm busy, Maudie._

_Oh, yes, I can see that, _she said, licking her paw contemptuously.

_Fine coming from you. The elves don't do anything from day to day … I've seen them at it._

_Seen them at doing nothing?_

_Exactly. How they can spend all day doing it is beyond me._

_You are useless, _she yawned.

_At least I've been keeping busy. _

_Oh, I am so very happy for you, _she drawled. Solembum showed his teeth.

_I've missed you, too, Maudie. A century really is too long._

_Seems I won't be seeing you ever again, Sol, _she replied after an uncharacteristic pause in conversation. _You going over the sea, too?_

_Me? _He flicked an ear briskly. _No. I've got someone to keep an eye on. Professional interest, you know. _

_Who? _Maud said, stopping her licking.

_A little girl. A human girl, but she's … unusual. Spell-struck. You'd like her. _

_Oh, it'll be my pleasure, I'm sure. _The licking started again.

_You going on the ship? _Solembum asked eventually after a minute's more sunbathing.

_No. Too busy here … That girl is going to need me if she ever to make a good Queen. _

_The Queen's right paw, eh? _His eyes, opened wide for moment, slid shut again. Maud swept her tail in a wide arch.

_Exactly. Which why I can't waste my time with you, layabout._

_Oh, Maudie. You'll wear your little pads out with all this rushing about. Have you not a moment to sit and relax? _All this was said in a very sardonic tone, yet it was slightly kind, too. Maud knew this.

_I suppose they can spare me for a while, _she said with quick flick of her tail. She stretched her rangy limbs, and settled down on the ledge next to him with feline enjoyment of the sun. The two werecats lay in almost companionable silence. It was a quite a while later when Maud said:

_I think you're frightened of water. That's why you're not sailing, isn't it, Sol?_

_Absolutely not, _he replied, insulted. _I have many excellent reasons. _

_I'm sure, _she said lazily. _I believe you._

_I'm too special to be lost at sea, Maudie, _he insisted mock-gravely. _The whole world would be devastated. _

_Pff, _she said, and curled her tail round her nose comfortably. Solembum watched her, his furry face unreadable. There was a long pause, and it was only after he had lain back down he decided to settle argument.

_Besides: you know I hate fish._

--

"These are your belongings," Niduen said, gesturing to a grey horse laden with saddle-bags, "and these are Eragon's." She nodded at another who carried slightly less. "They were packed as discreetly as possible. Please do not worry about that."

"I am not," said Arya, who wondered how she could ever have cared about such things before. "I will ask Eragon to come down and get his things."

Niduen nodded stiffly. "If you wish."

"Niduen, stop it!" burst out Arya. "You know I would not do this if it was not necessary -!"

"Would you not?" Niduen said, eyeing her coolly. "I know how you love the sea. You have fallen under its spell, as if you are some idiotic maiden in a story! I think if you were not allowed on the ship, you would swim there - to wherever in all the wide world you think you are going!"

"I am not worth waging war for!" cried Arya, balling her fists. "And war _will_ come if we stay! We are going, whether you like it or not, but I must have your blessing!"

"Suddenly I am important!"

"You always were important," replied Arya heatedly. "Don't be angry, you are not being sensible. Half our army was lost - half of our people in the last war, and you would bring another one, just to have my safety assured?!"

Niduen gazed at Arya, and her lip trembled. "Yes."

Her single word was almost inaudible, but Arya heard it. "Niduen, please, don't -" she broke off jerkily. "I know you want us to be safe - but we have to do this. I love you, and you know that; you are all that is left of my family, and it would tear me in two to know that through my inaction, your kingdom was put at risk - and _your_ safety."

Niduen said nothing. She turned away, to gaze at the ocean rushing into the bay of Teirm. Arya touched her arm gently.

"Your blessing, Niduen: that is all I want - all I need."

The Queen turned back to her cousin, and her eyes were feeling-less. "We shall see."

And she walked off to take her horse's bridle, and continued down the road into the city, her guard closing in around her. Arya was left in the muddy road, holding the harnesses of the two horses. There was a bitter taste in her mouth.

--

She walked into Eragon's room in the Keep of Gil'ead for the fifth time and shot a bolt of flame into the fireplace with excellent aim before throwing the rest of her scrolls - Varden papers and watchtower guard duties rolls - onto it. Eragon watched her for a second, then turned back to stoppering permanently his bottles of chemicals that had come on the horses from Ellesmera.

Arya watched them burn a moment, feeling Eragon's gaze on her. "She didn't give it to me. She won't."

"She's frightened. She doesn't want you to die. Maybe she thinks if she pretends to be so cold, you will not leave."

"She knows me." Arya stared into the flames as they engulfed the delicate parchment. "I made it clear to her that I am going … whether or no she agrees."

"Are you?" asked Eragon slowly. "Can you really?"

"Yes," she replied emphatically. "I was brought up to know I should sacrifice my self and my happiness for the greater good, and this is for the greater good."

"You will hate yourself; you will be miserable."

Arya looked sharply at him. "Are you trying to change my mind?"

"I am telling you the truth. Better to sail with almost complete peace of mind than to wonder forever what would have happened."

Arya raised an eyebrow and turned to stare out of the Keep window, at the bustling city of Gil'ead. Eragon - like Saphira - could be a fountain of information and advice if he wanted to, even if the advice was somewhat strangely worded.

"What are you trying to tell me, then?" she asked eventually, watching him from the corner of her eye as he threw some old arrow fletchings into the fire.

"I am saying that you should try harder. Don't take your dignity so seriously you cannot explain and apologise to Niduen."

"After all this is done," she said with a sigh, coming and sitting on his bed by a pile of worn out socks that were thankfully clean, "my dignity will be the last thing I have left."

"Dignity is not as important as you think," he said, with smile. Arya stared up at him.

"Easy for you to say, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?" he said indignantly. "I have dignity!"

Arya grinned despite herself. He was like Eridor in that he had that affect on her. "Of course you do, Eragon," she said, deliberately patronising. "Of course you do."

A large tattered sea-sponge that the dwarves often used landed on her face. "Next time it'll be wet," he threatened with a fierce look that was trying to repress a smile on his face. "Very wet."

"What are you going to do, hide it in my bed?"

"What an excellent idea!" he sad in mock admiration. "You are own worst enemy, Arya. You shouldn't give me ideas like that."

"Seeing as I am so scared," she said standing up, expression solemn, "I think I'll go and continue packing where the are no sea sponges." She eyed the tattered, yellow thing and amended: "No sea sponges yet. Goodbye."

"Goodbye," Eragon said cautiously, frowning at her funny mood, but amused as well. Eragon heard Arya's door shut loudly, and he sighed unhappily. Would Niduen were as understanding as Roran, or that she knew how miserable she was making Arya.

The fire puffed and went out; dead grey smoke cured from the ashes and drifted in ugly patterns around the room. Suddenly, it was much colder.

--

Eragon held his pen, a drop of red ink quivering on the nib, above the smooth parchment. He knew he had to, yet he hesitated. It was a cruel stroke he was going to play, a move necessary yet repulsive.

The ink dropped in and blurred, and Eragon laid the quill down, clenching his jaw. Tomorrow was Midsummer's Day: tomorrow the great, graceful ships of the Grey Folk would sail, and he and Arya would accompany them. Tomorrow their lives would change forever.

_Oh, little one, _said Saphira, from her comfortable position in a large hay barn in the town, _this is cruel. We should not have to do this._

_I know. And yet, we have been driven to it …! I can steel myself to do it, to write the infernal letter - then I imagine his face when he reads it, and I hate myself again! I cannot do it._

_Yes, I know, I know! Poor, poor man, but it must be done. Give him my blessing, and his son. Tell him I never expected such honour from him, yet I was never disappointed. That is all I will say. I cannot write, I do not know the courtesies you include in instances such as this. _

Eragon dipped the quill in the ink again, and this time he wrote, in the runes of the dwarves and the humans. Once he had admired writing, for the magical ways it could transform objects into beautiful poetry or gallant epics, or bring the author's imaginings to life: yet now as he wrote, he felt that each stark rune, every slanted line was a barbed dagger to pierce a good man's heart.

The message was sent by sundown.

--

Eragon slept uneasily, his feeling of betrayal making his mind restless; the waves crashed on the beach outside, and he was not used to it, and wished it was the trees of Ellesmera outside that made the noise rather than the rushing ocean.

Slowly, drifting away from an unhappy dream-stare, he became that the latch on his door - his bedroom adjoined a sitting room and he had left it on the latch - and his well-oiled door was being pushed. Eragon watched, pretending to sleep, as someone stepped inside.

"Eragon?"

He opened his eyes wide. "What are you doing here, Arya? It's well past midnight!"

She ignored him; her figure paused a moment, then crossed silent to the shuttered window. "Have you seen the moon?"

"No," he said slowly. "I was asleep."

Arya slid back the latches and threw open the shutters; silvery blue moonlight flooded into the room, illuminating Arya and the tousled covers of his bed. She seemed to glow, for she was wearing nothing but a thin, white shift.

"Isn't it beautiful?" she said softly. Eragon felt the hairs on the back of his neck prick; he sat up, the air cold to his bare chest, and stared. Arya did not like to forfeit sleep - she loved to sleep, and was especially grumpy when woken too early for her tastes. So what was she doing now, at midnight, in his bedroom ...?

"Yes," he replied in a low voice. "It is."

She turned to look at him, fine feature shadowed and illuminated on different places, so that she looked like some seraph who only came out at night, to dance under the moon. "Are you afraid for tomorrow?" She moved away from the window, and slowly to the bed.

"Afraid? No. But I am worried. I am sad for the ties I will break." And all the while he watched her, coming nearer, nearer.

She sat gently down on his bed, her weight, so slight after her enforced fast of two months, barely made the feather mattress sink. Her skin was pale and smooth in the rays of the moon, and her hair stark black in its soft curls.

"Our lives are going to change tomorrow," she after a pause, her long fingers twining and untwining. Eragon watched her, so beautiful, suddenly hesitant. "And it will the last time we will ever stand on this land again."

She lifted her graceful head and stared at the moon, the bright rays of pure light; then suddenly she turned to him, and her green eyes were filled with many emotions. Eragon drank her in, yet did not forget that this was all very strange. But she was undoubtedly Arya, no changeling fairy-woman, not by her soft scent and the small movements Eragon had grown to know and love as her own little characteristics.

"I know," he said softly. "But you will be with me. That is more than I could ask for."

She smiled quickly, and gently laid her long, delicate fingers against his cheek; he jumped at the sudden contact of her cool, soft skin against his. "Yes. So I think our last night here should be special … something to remember."

And she leaned closer to him, other hand coming to caress his face. Eragon's heartbeat increased tenfold as he touched his own hand to her hip, gently, gingerly. Their foreheads met, Arya's hair touching his face, teasing softly, her sweet smell -

"Are you sure?" he breathed, arm curling round her hip, face pressing to hers. She smiled her beautiful smile, and brought her hands to around his neck, and kissed him soundly, hard, pressing herself to him.

"_Yes."_

/-/

Hours later, they lay together, slept entwined close together, arms and legs and even breath combined; the moon shone into the handsome room, cool fingers touching on bare limbs, tousled blankets, clothes discarded; the beams of silver light banded on their pale skin, illuminated delicate eyelashes and curled, empty hands.

And soon came the sunrise, the cold, early dawn of a summer morn; this was the dawn of a new day, a fresh day: the last day.

--

Orik opened with steady fingers the plain parchment. He was not nervous, but he was somewhat surprised that Eragon had contacted him: he'd have thought that he'd have wanted to stay as far away as possible from Orik's vicious court.

_ Orik, my most respected friend -_

_ I am afraid that by the time you read this, I will have gone, along with Arya, Eridor and Saphira. We are sailing with the Grey Folk, away from Alagaesia to the other lands across the sea. None of us, I think, will ever set foot here again. _

_ It hurts me, physically, to write this, to have to tell you in a letter. Hrothgar would not have wanted it, yet I think that he would be proud of you. A King - a true King - sacrifices himself for his country - is that not what they say? And the dwarves could not have a better king._

_ I could not have had a better brother, foster-brother or not. You were brave and true to me, and I only wish that our relationship should not stop here because of simple, dangerous pig-headedness. _

_ Yet it has. Over the sea with me, I have taken my helmet. This I will treasure. But in the package I have sent is my hunting knife, which is as mundane and human an object as one could get. My Uncle made it for me, sharpened the blade himself, chose the wood. It is not an object of great workmanship, but it was made with love. Do with it what you will: throw it away, melt it down, burn it. It is yours._

_ Now here my audacious favour that I ask you. Elva the small child who is now Angela's charge - she is penniless, has not a possession in the world. If she is to live in some comfort, I ask that you give her an allowance of your choosing, simply to help her survive. I do not know how she will decide to use her life but I know she will use it well._

_ That is my one last request. All I ask now is that you forgive me. You were a good brother, a good ally, a good comrade. If I have my way, there will be songs whose words describe you; and in my own heart, and Saphira's, we will never, never forget you._

_ Farewell, Orik, my Grimstborith, my King, my brother. Farewell for the last time._

_ Eragon._

Orik closed his eyes, and sunk his head into his hands.

--

Eragon and Arya stood in the shadows of the great gatehouse of Gil'ead, near the muddy street outside. As they watched, the guards opened the Gate, and the Grey Folk became visible.

Arya and Eragon stepped out into the street, their long cloaks and deep hoods concealing their faces. There was a long crocodile of people dressed in flowing desert-garb; men, women, children, babies. The few faces that were not obscured looked stern. Nasuada, at the head of the column with Azhborn turned a solemn gaze on them.

"Are you ready?"

"We are ready," said Arya, and stepped out to stand behind them. Her voice was low and her hood was kept determinedly high.

"Let us go," Azhborn said in his deep voice, and beckoned with a single crooked finger for his people to follow him. They moved into steady action, children clutched tight, babies hushed; in this muffled, funereal fashion the Grey Folk passed through Gil'ead, earning frightened looks from the few locals about at this early hour after dawn.

The guards opened the gates to the docks to them, and there, as Eragon had expected but somehow feared to see, was the fleet that they were to sail on.

They were large, graceful boats, with high prows and carved figureheads, lit still with magical lamps, fitted with iron-strong ropes and stone-heavy anchors; he knew it had been prepared in haste, yet they were fine things, strong, graceful and flowingly made: they were, as the sailors said, 'ladies'.

_Song of the Deep _was an old name the Grey Folk cherished, for it was the name of the song they all knew and sang where their old brethren fell to dwell across the sea; and so was named the first ship, that Arya and Eragon would board. Their belongings, their weapons were already aboard; all that remained was their farewells: and there were few of these.

Sailors employed by Roran to build the ships - he had taken the costs himself, despite Azhborn's protest - stated to lay down the boarding plank and the guards retreated to go and collect their wages; the Grey Folk were left alone. Slowly, as if in a dream, they started to organise themselves, find their designated ship.

There were five: _Wave Rider, Spray-Maker, Sea Dancer, Mist of Umhodan - _a famous sea-faring lay - and last, but the leader of the fleet, _Song of the Deep. _By all accounts they were strange names; but they were proud names.

Arya looked around, hand clenched tightly around his: Niduen had come not come: she would not forgive Arya, it seemed, for wanting to leave her. Eragon closed his eyes, wishing it was not so. There was little time left.

They stood together hand in hand as the Grey Folk slowly boarded, taking their time, careful to be quiet and orderly: Orrin was still in the castle, and was suspicious. It was a second's work for him to raise the guards.

"Worried?" said someone in a strained voice. "I would be."

"Gods, Angela! Don't do that!" Eragon spun around to be faced with her plump face, solemn for once. "What are you doing here?!"

"Couldn't let you go without saying goodbye, Block - Eragon." Her crooked eyebrows crooked further. "Goodbye."

"I really will miss you, Angela," he said sombrely. "Life won't be the same without you to remind me not to eat earwax or avoid boiled cabbage, I'm afraid."

"Oh, you don't me to tell you that any more," she said fondly. "But I might miss you, too."

"Right." Eragon nodded awkwardly, and burst out quickly: "Take care of Elva, won't you? Please? Let no harm come to her … I have left .. Provisions for her, with Orik. I think if you ask nicely he will give you what you need." He thought of the letter he had sent Orik, and wished he could do more for the child he had cursed.

"That is good of you," she said gravely. "I am a poor herbalist, after all."

"Of course you are." He hesitated, and brought from his pockets something else. "This is Saphira's. It is magically imbued to never fade or dull; and it has a dragon's magic. She will not come to harm if she wears it and cares for it."

He dropped a shining blue scale, a large one from Saphira's back, into her outstretched hand. Angela blinked once or twice, and said after a moment: "Thank you. I do not think she will remember you, but this … this she will treasure."

"Then I am glad."

"Goodbye, blockhead," she said slowly and patted his cheek tenderly. "You weren't so block-headed in the end."

He smiled with difficulty and closed his eyes; when he had opened them, she'd turned away. Conversation, apparently, was closed.

Where was Roran? He had sworn he would be there, sworn it …! Eragon stared about with increasing unease, wondering Orrin had discovered their bid to escape, if Roran had been captured, if he had been poisoned -

_Hallo, Rider, _said a smug voice. _Where's your dragon? _

Eragon looked down to see Solembum's scruffy face and yellow eyes surveying him coolly. _She is coming, _he said cautiously. _She is flying. _

As he spoke, Saphira and Eridor flew over the city, silent as owls in the night; they alighted on the very edge of the dock, away from the chaos.

_Is Roran here? Niduen? B_ut of course she already knew the answer to this, and she soon noticed the werecat. _Oh, hello, Solembum, _she said, and entered into conversation with, every bit as odd as his with Angela had been.

"She is not coming," Arya said, voice flat. "She will not forgive me."

"She may," Eragon said, clutching her hand tight. "She may still come."

Arya tilted her head away, sagging with misery. Eragon watched as a coop of chickens was carried on, and a few small pygmy goats. They bleated piteously, and Eragon could not help thinking that they might end up as food as well as milk-and-egg producers. But soon he saw that most people were aboard all ready; and that he and Arya were the last ones waiting …

"We are ready to cast anchor," said Azhborn, watching them with an unreadable expression. "You must come aboard now."

"No …!" Arya breathed, starting around, trying to see if Niduen was hiding, watching silently on -

"She's not coming," Eragon said hollowly. "Neither is Roran. It is well past the appointed time." And, indeed, the sun was starting to rise above the city walls.

Arya gave a quiet gasp; Eragon knew she was fighting tears, and felt close to them himself. Roran, why hadn't he come? Where was he? Did he hate he, Eragon, now? Did he want him to suffer …?

"Please come aboard, now," Azhborn insisted, and still Arya and Eragon held on, looking, searching for a sign -

"ARYA!" A thin, cloak-and-hooded figure came running along the dock with lithe steps. Arya leapt forward with a muffled cry, and the two cousins embraced passionately, both weeping, for Arya's hood had come down.

"Arya, I am sorry, I forgive, I do not hold you responsible …!"

"I don't care, Niduen, I don't care -"

"Please accept my blessing! Take it and be happy, be blessed and lucky in all you do!" Niduen kissed Arya's cheeks and forehead, and they embraced again, holding each other tight -

The sailors on board were moving, striding about doing their work. "Haul anchor!" went the cry. The chain that was secured to the massive iron anchor started to be hauled slowly upwards. Arya turned to stare at it, the back to her cousin.

"I have to go! I'm sorry, Niduen, so sorry!"

"Don't be," she sobbed back, wiping her streaming eyes. "Go on, go, before I change my mind -"

Arya kissed her, again and again. And then she had to go, for Eragon touched her arm; so Niduen put her arms around Arya's neck for the last time and they shared their last touch, last embrace in all their lives: and Arya said that she loved her, and Niduen said so, over and over.

The ship was starting to sway. Arya, weeping, put her arm in Eragon's and turned away; they hurried up the gangway, as it was being winched up, keeping their balance, but feeling numb; immobile.

A crowd was gathering, at the foremost of which, Niduen stood, blue eyes wet with tears, long hair streaming in the breeze. She smiled bravely, and Arya returned a watery smile back, the last one they would ever exchange -

"STOP IT!!" a woman shrieked, a female who was running at full pelt along the dock skidding to halt by Niduen, and grabbed at her to stop herself from falling in. Niduen staggered and conjured magic to her hands; Arya twitched as she watched, and Eragon grabbed her shoulder.

_I recognise her, _he had time to say in her mind, before the girl - dressed in a maid's clothing - shouted again at the top of her lungs.

"YOUR COUSIN IS COMING!! WAIT FOR HIM!!"

The dragons flew restless circles above the masts of the five ships. Eragon leaned over, staring as the gap from the dock and the ship grew larger, showed choppy water slapping the wooden dock -

Another person came running, panting, wild-eyed, wild-haired: Roran. Eragon gave hoarse cry, and hung over the rail, throwing back his hood.

"_Eragon!" _came the faint, desperate yell. _"ERAGON!"_

"Roran!" Eragon shouted back, in vain. They got further and further from the dock; Roran's figure became smaller, the water between them grew larger. Eragon, in his frenzied madness, made to leap into he sea, to swim home, back to Roran -

Arya grabbed his arm, caught his face in her gloved hands. "Don't. It's too far."

Her own face was glazed with tears, and it was that that finally woke Eragon from his grief. Their homeland was disappearing behind them into a fog, and the unknown was coming ever closer as they sailed regardless straight into it …

Eragon pulled his arms tight about Arya; they stared as Alagaesia was lost behind them. Yet, out of the mist, came a wild, raw-throated yell, that Eragon knew well, and it broke his heart, for it was Roran, screaming his misery, his frustration, screaming his loss to the Deep …

Tears soaked his cloak, his and Arya's mingled. And the carven prow of the _Song of the Deep_ rose and fell on the waves, as they sail out of the harbour, out of the waters of Alagaesia forever: bathed in a silver glow that the Grey Folk brought, soaked in misery, but also in adventure. Above them two dragons circled, endlessly, tirelessly. Blue and green, fire and fire.

And so on that Midsummer's Day in the First year of the Golden Age, the Fleet of the Grey Folk, which bore Nasuada Nightstalker, Arya Drottningü and Eragon Shadeslayer, Riders of Saphira Bjartskular and Eridor, Galeru's son, departed from Alagaesia forever.

Then ended the Imperial Century, and so ended the Race of Dragons in that land. But Eragon, on that ship, as they sailed away, the history books not even written, closed his eyes and kissed the top of Arya's soft head in thanks, to whom he did not know.

The best was yet to come.

--

:Faints: It's over! My goodness, it's over! It's 11:30 at night, but it's finished! There will be an epilogue, for wrapping up, and cos I like the sound of the name, and then I'll do my proper Thanking and all that. So! See you in a day or so, with the epilogue!


	68. Epilogue

Epilogue.

In the bustling streets of the city of Teirm, a small, square-fronted shop with glass windows and herbs in boxes on the sides, sat quietly there. Occasionally a woman wearing a hood or cloak, hiding her face, would go in to buy things her husband should not know about; sometimes a healer would come to buy extra salves or dried herbs.

But at that time, on that crisp autumn evening when even the sea was calm, any of these clients would have walked away empty-handed. The proprietor of the shop had put up her a neat little _'closed'_ sign and locked the door. She was busy.

She sat behind the high counter, pouring white paper sachets into little pots, crushing crystals in her large china pestle-and-mortar, burning the dangerous remainders of certain plants. This was what she had been brought up to do, to work and to be careful with the delicate things she worked with.

But she had been taught to think for herself; to use her own mind, and her own initiative. And her tongue. Just as her predecessor had been, she was sharp with her tongue. She was eighteen, tall and not very plump at all; her hair was black and twisted into ringlets that never lost their bounce; and her eyes were bright blue.

She might have been pretty, even taking into account her crooked, wry mouth and sharp cheekbones, but for the silver mark on her forehead. This, this magic mark, this shining patch of skin, set her apart from every woman, girl and herbalist in all of Alagaesia.

It was this that had failed to land Elva a husband, and this that made her feared or admired in the city by turns.

As she finished pouring a sachet into another tall jar, a clock on the mantle chimed the first hour of noon: Elva leapt straight up, eyes bright, and slid off her high stool to the floor, her boots making a sharp _clack_ on the wooden floor; she pulled back the beaded curtain behind the counter and disappeared into the depths of the small house behind the shop.

This was her free hour, the only daylight one she had. In the small cloakroom by the narrow stairs she took down her shawl and hung her pinafore up, before tucking her skirts into her boots. It did not look feminine, but she knew how muddy the streets out of the city were.

The clock chimed again impatiently. Elva tied her hair tight behind her head and rushed back into the shop, opened the door with flick of her hand, and locked it again behind her. She was free.

She pushed her way through the market, the fishmongers' street, the livestock market, and out onto the main road to the Gates. Here she was ushered through with a man who smelt strongly of fish and a woman who scowled at her.

Elva was used to this, these discriminatory looks and snooty stares, and did not care. Her crooked mouth thinned, and as soon as they reached the cliffs, she broke away from the crowd and disappeared up the old farm track, no longer used.

Brambles snatched at her clothes, making rips she knew she would never darn because, in her hands, sewing needles became instruments of infinite torture, and she picked at a few blackberries. She kept going familiar with the track but still puffing, stopped briefly to pick a large bunch of morning glory and late dog-roses; finally, after much blowing and puffing, she came out onto the brow of the hill.

The sun was shining on the ocean, ducking with the waves, making it shine unbearably bright. Elva stared and stood and just smelled the sea air for a long time; no matter how long she lived in the city, she was never happier than when away from it. Or when she was out at sea.

A few sheep bleated as, far below, they were herded out of the city. Elva watched the shaggy little black and white dog rounding them up under the farmer's rough commands, then turned away. She had come for a reason, a reason she was not used to, a reason she would easily not have to give herself.

On the tip of the flat hill was a single shining slab of crystal, the rays of sunlight flashing through it, winking at Elva as if in merriment. She swallowed, feeling anything but merry. She still was not used this, though the crystal headstone had been there nigh on six months.

Elva walked slowly forward, and soon she traced the runes she had carved with magic into the rock:

_Here Lies Angela.  
__Let her not be Forgotten:  
__These Kingdoms resound with Her Name.  
__  
She Was Loved._

Elva laid the flowers on the raised green mound of earth, and felt a tear tickle down her nose and over her lips and run down her chin; then another, and another, then in floods. She tried in vain to recall them, yet still they rose and fell from her eyes.

She hated to think of Angela's body rotting beneath her, in the cold, hard, hole in the earth. She loved her so much, the woman who had been her mother, her teacher, her confidant, her friend … her only family, in all the wide world.

She, Elva, was known. Angela, too, had been known, extensively so. So she did not starve, because her shop was famous. Yet she was not happy either. It was hard to be satisfied with an empty house, a friendless life.

And no one wanted to be friends with Elva … the witch, the magician, the freak.

Elva kissed the headstone, and a tear dropped onto it, another little crystal itself. How she missed her! How she wished, even, for Solembum to come back. But he'd run of with Maud after Angela's death, miserable, bored of humans; suddenly Elva was all alone.

With an effort, she closed her eyes and stopped her throat to sobs, but choked instead. She could just hear what Angela would think of her weeping like a baby: "_Calm down, now: crying's no use girl! Mix me some Angelica now, and some marsh salt. I need a purgative …"_

Elva choked a small laugh, imagining this. Of course that's what Angela would have said - she would have disapproved with all this aimless wandering of thought, this restlessness to suddenly do more … She would probably, Elva thought wryly, have disapproved of all this mourning her death, too.

"_Daft humans! Either drunk, asleep, eating, moaning, or crying over spilt milk! And don't get me started on dwarves…!"_

Of course, Angela and the dwarves had always had always had a tempestuous relationship. Angela had - unfairly or not - won a huthvÍr, a sacred weapon of one of the dwarven Clans … and then she had insulted them; again, and again, and again.

But Angela had had friends in high places … enemies. Though she lived as quietly as she could, was as discreet as she could be, Elva had … acquaintances in the high courts of Alagaesia. But these she did not care for. Queen Trianna might want her to concoct a potion to prevent her becoming pregnant again (three was quite enough for that chilling woman) - Orodüm of Durgrimst Ingietum might want her at his wedding - Roran (Roran he had always been to her) might want her at Gil'ead to celebrate his eldest son's coming-of-age, but Elva could not bring herself to obey these kindly summons.

She didn't want friends in high places. She wanted Angela back.

A little voice in her mind, another alternate part of her, it seemed, snorted at the absurdness of this, and Elva amended her own thoughts: what she wanted was some sort of family; people who would understand her and accept for being different, and looking strange.

But people were cruel. No one would do that.

Slowly, she took from the bodice of her dress a few wrinkled letters, that she had read a hundred times over, each of them. They had been keeping her awake at night.

_Elva -_

_I know you hate parties, and celebrations and pomp and ceremony, but I am going to ask you anyway. I am turning sixteen, and accepting some royal duties soon. Father said no, so that I could continue my training in the army, but mother thinks I should have SOME responsibility. _

_And mother being mother, there is a party. If you come, you will be outfitted here, and I know you will fit in just as well as any of the ladies from court. Ryean is going to be there, because he's fourteen now, and "quite old enough" to stay up late drinking sherry. Christine will keep an eye on him, and I'm sure she'll watch out for you too. _

_If you do not want to come, I understand. I am very sorry that Angela has passed away. I only ask because it would be an honour to have you here. Perhaps you might enjoy it, too._

_Yours, _

_Rowan._

Elva sat by the headstone, considering this, her stomach doing unpleasant flip flops. Rowan was heir to the throne of the Bröddring Kingdom - of course he had other state names, and Rowan was his pet one - and this was an important stage in his life.

But parties, celebrations … he was right, she did not like them. In fact, loathe though she was to admit it, she was frightened of them. So many people to stare at her, snub her; people to make light conversation with, and rich silks, posh dances she had never learned … it was a nightmare for her.

She'd grown up, sporadically, with Rowan, his sister Christine, and little Ryean. Rowan was funny, but careful in the way he thought and spoke; a lot like his father, and doubted an excellent King. She'd been a toddler when he was born, and he knew her too well to care about her dragon-mark.

Ryean was energetic, tall, with long gangly limbs - last time she saw him, at twelve - and he was alarmingly happy to go and box someone, anyone, at any excuse. A strange lad, but for the most part, harmless.

It was Christine, somehow, Elva could not get along with. Christine was fifteen, tall but not inelegantly so, with shining copper hair and intelligent brown eyes. It was just that she was so confident , ladylike, well-taught, well-mannered and so clever that she never filed to make Elva feel stupid or cumbersome. And yet she had always been kind, with a wisdom past her years. But Elva knew that if Christine knew the things he made sold in her little shop in Teirm, she would be shocked and horrified.

The whole thing filled Elva with horror. But she knew what Angela would have thought of her refusing this invite. Besides … she could juss go and hide in the Keep at Gil'ead … go and see Katrina's kindly maid Hephzibah and her children …

Anyway, Roran's letter was kind.

_My dear Elva, I know very well that you will not want to come. I do not blame you, but I do not think you should spend all your time alone, in the shop. I know you do, so do not deny it! If you decide to come I will send a carriage or a horse for you, and you need not come to the ball, just come to say hello to Rowan. He'll miss you._

_I am sorry about Angela's death, though I know it will be no consolation. She was a very incredible woman, and many other things besides. She helped me and Eragon very much; and she saved many lives. _

_If you are ever in need, you can come here. Do not worry, and do not feel obliged. _

_Much love, _

_Roran. _

Elva stared at the expensive was seal on the envelope, and then folded it back up. Angela _had_ saved lives; she'd done far more than she, Elva, ever had - Angela had known how fight, had been so very capable …

And Elva knew the stories that were passing into legend. How Princess Arya (the cousin of the Queen of the Elves, no less!) had been struck by a terrible spell from Galbatorix in the last days of his life, how she and her dragon had fallen into a death-sleep, unconsciousness but not alive, not asleep.

Princess Arya had been tremendously beautiful. Even Solembum had mentioned her. And Elva knew that Eragon Shadeslayer had been desperately in love with her, and he'd not moved from her bedside for months.

_Eragon Shadeslayer. _

Elva's hand crept to her forehead, touching the silvery dragon mark on her brow. Saphira the dragon had given that to her … Eragon had cursed her …

He hadn't meant to; he'd reversed it in the end. But Elva, still, found it hard to live in the city. So many people doing stupid things and hurting themselves sometimes made her lay awake for hours at night, or wove into her dreams; or when she was walking up a street would see a man and know he was about to trip over a barrow and break his toe.

It was ridiculous, but Elva learned to control it. Sometimes it was useful. And the Gedwey Ignesia on her brow … that was a strange thing, for sure, but it gave her magic. Her magic was not triggered by words, but by her thoughts and intentions. And it was powerful magic; so much so that it was dangerous for her to exhibit feelings to strongly, or something bad would happen. She didn't mean to … it just happened …

Any road, she didn't blame Eragon Shadeslayer or Saphira for this. It just made her burning desire to know more about them increase; she only wanted answers.

Her hand crept to the blue scale threaded onto a necklace of black cord. It was rock-hard, that scale, and it was charmed with magic to never dull or fade, and (so Angela had once reluctantly mentioned) to protect her. How, Elva had not yet learned.

They had been the last of their kind, the last dragons in Alagaesia. Eragon and Princess Arya had been the last Riders; the Grey Folk had sailed away long ago. Elva had no one she belonged to. So did that make her the first of a type? Or the last of type? Or just, as many people said spitefully, a freak …?

The dragons must have been beautiful; proud and majestic, dangerous but so _magical_! And there were no more; not a single one. Elva was not extensively book-learned, though she could read and write and do more besides, but she knew that Alagaesia could not survive forever without the balance between the four races being established again.

A chilly Eastern wind blew; Elva turned slightly to see the ocean … the ocean the Riders had sailed away on … it was so big, so cold and lonely, that Elva suddenly felt very small. What was she but a girl playing with dangerous toys? There must, she thought sadly, be more to life than the shop.

She kept staring, and did not see the bush shiver and produce a small form. But she felt it when the creature pushed its way into her mind. She leapt up, heart beating, focussing on a scrap of doggerel to try and keep the intruder out -

_"Won't you come into my parlour,  
Said the spider to the fly,  
_"'_Tis the prettiest little parlour  
__You ever did see …"_

The little mind pushed into hers and sat like a contented frog on a lily pad there, grinning somehow. Elva had never been good at guarding her mind, because of all the minds whose pain kept intruding on hers, and she batted in vain at this person -

_Typical, _it said. _I come all this way and you still don't want to talk._

Elva almost fell over in surprise and opened her eyes to stare at the creature she had not noticed before. He regarded her with yellow eyes.

"Sol?!"

_Hello girlie, _he replied with a lick of his chops. _Fancy seeing you here._

_Gods, Sol, _she said, collapsing back down, _don't _ever_ do that me again._

_Haven't you managed to guard your mind yet? _he asked, rather unfeelingly. Elva picked him up by the scruff of his neck as she had done of old when he annoyed her, and scowled at him.

_Shut up. If I haven't, it's no thanks to you._

_What's _that_ supposed to mean? _

_You run off with Maud a day after Angela dies and leave me to run the shop, pay the taxes, serve the customers, prepare the products, and -_

_You know I can't do those things, _he said, in between yowls as he dangled from her arm's length, and waved two paws aroudn with difficulty. _Do you see hands here?_

_Shut up! _she reiterated. _And then you come swanning back, break into my mind and terrify me! I mean - _

_Sorry, _he said, sounding as if he meant it. _But put me down! This is dignified for someone of my station!_

Elva snorted and let him drop into her lap. "Still sending yourself up," she said aloud. "No wonder Maud doesn't put up with you for long."

He turned himself around in her lap, getting little brown hairs on her black skirts, and yawned ostentatiously. _Oh, Maudie doesn't mind me so much now, apparently._

"What?" she said to the air, and then, sensing something in the way he said it: _Gods, Solembum! Don't tell me -?! _

He blinked slowly at her, his mind emanating smugness. _Maudie's staying in Ellesmera now._

_I don't believe it! _exclaimed Elva, and giggled. _Are you going to have babies, Sol?_

He shot up in her lap, claws digging in, tail bristling like a soot brush hissing like a snake. _Steady on! Didn't say that, did I?!_

_Sorry. _Elva clamped a hand to her mouth and sniggered. He gave her a disgruntled glare and settled back down, with an air of injured pride.

_Anyway, that's my excuse for going off. _

Her smile faded as she pulled her shawl tighter about her. Maud, no doubt, had been who he went to for comfort. Solembum had known Angela for decades - how long, neither of them had ever said - and perhaps his way of coping was different to hers.

_You're still not forgiven … but … congratulations anyway, for, you know … _

Solembum grunted. Elva's solemnity failed her, and she dissolved into stifled sniggers and giggles, imagining what Maud would say if she knew they were talking about her like this. And she knew what Angela would have said:

"_About damn time! Over a hundred years and _now_ they decide they like each other …?!"_

"A hundred years, Sol," she said, tickling his chin, "and you manage it when she's not here to see? That's bad timing, even for you."

It was the first time she had spoken lightly of Angela since her death, and it did not feel as bad as she'd imagined. He purred through his fangs.

_She'd've been proud._

_She'd have hit you with a rolling pin for running off like that. _

_Stop being pessimistic, _he yawned. _Aren't I forgiven yet?_

_Well, we'll see. I suppose you _did_ come back._

_Exactly. _

_Come on, then. _She gave his one last tap on the nose and hoisted him out of her lap. Gently, Elva leant over, kissed the gravestone, and touched the stone tenderly. The wild flowers she had brought rustled in the breeze, and their scent was sweet. Elva found that for the first time since she had had to visit the grave, her eyes were dry.

Suddenly, as she looked down, she became immensely fond of Solembum, tetchy, sarcastic and irascible as he was. She tweaked his tail gently, and smiled.

_How does a pig's ear sound, Sol? I can get one off the market for you if you like. _

_Oh, _he said, flicking an ear, _you know I am more partial to - _

He broke off and sat down suddenly. Elva stared.

"What's wrong? Upset stomach?"

_No. Listen. _

Her dragon-mark had blessed her with heightened senses as well as magic. Elva cocked her head, like him, and listened, knowing better than to ignore him. Soon, from far away, she was sure she heard a faint _thud-thud-thud_ travelling through the air.

_That? _she asked.

_Ssh, _he said. Elva turned to the start of the track home, irritated.

"Let's go home now, Sol. Never mind wind-listening, they will be shutting the gates soon."

_This is more important than gates,_ he said slowly. _Listen!_

Elva stopped and listened; the thudding had become louder, more insistent; it sounded like a band of dwarf-players acting out a play with drums as the background. It was strange; it seemed to coming nearer, yet it could not be coming from the city …

A prickling sensation started in Elva's back; she spun to the cliff again, and the sea, and stopped breathing as she took in the sight she was seeing.

Lots and lots of huge, barbed black _things _were heading straight for her, from over the Eastern sea; they were all flying in a rough line, and they had big bat-like wings. In fact, Elva thought they _were_ bats; but then she saw the huge heads, clawed feet, ivory spikes along the back, the long tails acting as rudders …

She was terrified. The old names of the tales came back to her, and she ran over them swiftly, thinking rapidly of how to alert the city, to avoid invasion -

_Lethrblaka, Ra'zac, Cliff-Ghast, the Adar Lwych Gwin, Tylwyth Teg, Hippogriff, Alicanto, oh, please, Gods what _are_ they -_

And still these shapes headed inexorably to Elva, to her hill: but she was paralysed, could not move. Solembum twisted in excitement rather than fear around her legs.

The thuds were too loud to bear now; they made her ears hurt and her jaw clench involuntarily. These massive shapes flew right over head, terrifying but majestic, and Elva saw they were different colours, and that they had four legs -

The hill was a broad one, and they landed, together, on the huge table-top of the cliff. Elva stood, transfixed, as they stretched long necks, snapped huge jaws with rows of jagged, inches-thick fangs.

Some were only twenty feet lone from nose to tail-tip; other sixty feet; one massive thing seventy feet and perhaps more. There was a yellow one, a blue one, a purple one, two creatures of vibrant green, another orange, yet another gold, one silver; there was amethyst, white, black, muddy brown, palest blue, softest mauve … they were a tapestry of incredible colour and immeasurable majesty.

Elva stared, and her wondering mind processed one word.

_Dragons._

Dragons!

_Dragons, _said Solembum with satisfaction. Elva stared in delight, fear, wonder … so many things, but the culmination of all her dreams. In vain she looked for riders on their back, but soon saw there were none.

_Wild dragons, _Solembum said this time. Elva watched them, eyes wide, admiring, star-struck … and in her rhapsody of wonder she forgot caution. She stepped forward, and a twig beneath her feet snapped with a sharp _crack _very audible in the silence.

And every pair of jewel-bright eyes turned.

They'd seen her.

--

The end. I hope it was good … and explained a few things. The main thing is the dragons are back - and no, they don't eat her.

I can't believe it's over! I was 12 when I started this 2 years ago! God, I didn't know what I was letting myself in for. And, of course, a resounding thanks to all reviewers! Who were, for this chapter and many others:

**xlilypadsx, ****Kelss6692, Social Bunny, Spooky Pumpkin, Ryder Blade, Porsches As Bribes, RockCityRoadStar, mOOnlite-duskk, Melcangel, Claire1992, Arya 4 ever, Lord Cornelius Ravencroft Tidustide, Arion Naomi, Andlat Ebrithil, Kiwikiss, I Walk For Robert Frost, Blue-Eyed Chica, randomguy1517 and Invaderm - **I'm sorry I didn't know you were avoiding spoilers! Isn't it spectacular how I always manage to put my foot right in it.

This story means a helluva lot to me, and I'm quite freaked out now it's not there any more, kind of! It made me feel safe, like no matter what happened on this side of the computer, you guys were still waiting for an update, and I still had my characters that I'd worked so hard on.

There will be others. But this was the first, and my favourite. So thank you all, so much, and I will never, never forget, whatever else I decide to do. Your encouragement has not gone unthought about :)

Jenna (You all know that's my name anyway, reviewers, and Aeronnen sounds sort of stuffy).

S'long!

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